


I Wrote Your Name in My Heart

by alanna_the_lionheart



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Anxiety, Caring, Depression, Drug testing, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Flashbacks, Graphic Description, Healing, Hope, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Love, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, OTA, Original Team Arrow, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Romance, Season/Series 05, Sensory Deprivation, Sign Language, Starvation, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Support, Tenderness, Torture, Trauma, but no actual rape, discussions of rape, olicity - Freeform, re-established relationship, supportive olicity, torture by deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-28 13:40:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 106,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7642798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alanna_the_lionheart/pseuds/alanna_the_lionheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One cold night in December, a group of men kidnap Oliver right in front of Felicity. They leave behind no ransom or demands, no hints to his fate, and no clues to follow. As the new year starts, the team begins to lose hope that they will ever be able to save the Green Arrow; all except Felicity, because Felicity just got Oliver back, and she’ll be damned if she’s going to lose him again. Her hope pays off in the end…but when they finally find Oliver, they find a broken man they barely recognize. Felicity vows to do whatever it takes to make the man she loves whole again. Started off as a future fic but is now technically alternate canon/AU (takes places starting in early December 2016).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hope is Something You Give Yourself

**Author's Note:**

> My first long multi-chapter story in the Arrow-verse. Not sure how many chapters it’ll be. Expect a ton of angst, supportive Olicity, some flashbacks, and a bit of hope.
> 
> Friendly warning: this story is going to get dark. I don’t think it's going to get TOO graphic, but some of the language I used just in this first chapter gets pretty descriptive, so I’m using the warning to be safe.

** **

**I Wrote Your Name in My Heart**

**< \-- Prologue: Hope is Something You Give Yourself -->**

Eight weeks, two days, and nineteen hours.

That’s how long it’s been since they’ve seen him.

That’s how long it’s been since Felicity woke to find masked men taking him away from her; ripping him right out of the bed they had shared for the first time since they’d broken up almost a year before.

That’s how long he's been kept in a dark, cold, underground prison.

Starved.

Mutilated.

Tortured.

…Alone and hopeless.

That's how long it's been since Felicity's heart started breaking all over again.

 

* * *

 

When Oliver disappears, Felicity and the team try everything within their power to find him. They leave no stone unturned, no lead unfollowed, no contact uncontacted.

The SCPD searches for him, too. He’s the mayor, after all, and Star City needs him - in more ways than one. Despite her leave of absence, Lyla is able to get ARGUS to help as well. The FBI even gets involved for a short time, but they quickly move on to bigger and more important things.

As if anything could be more important than bringing Oliver Queen home.

The new year starts, and after a month of searching, Team Arrow begins to give up hope. Without Oliver, the team loses its focus and drive, and Felicity doesn’t have enough energy to keep them together by herself. Eventually, Felicity disbands the team, telling everyone to take some time to be with their loved ones.

Artemis and Wild Dog decide to take a break from Star City. Felicity makes them promise to stay safe and to stay in contact, and they travel the country, never staying in one place for too long. After a few weeks, Felicity realizes with a pang that she misses the sound of their arguments filling the lair.

Curtis divides his time between his husband and his job at Palmer Tech. He throws himself into his work, managing half a dozen projects at once. He checks in with Felicity often, taking her out to dinner and keeping her updated on how well his work is going. He tells her he just wants to be sure she’s doing all right, but Felicity has a strong feeling that the daily phone calls are more for his own sake than hers.

Diggle takes it hard. The loss of another brother so soon after his blood brother - and so soon after he’d finally decided to rejoin Team Arrow - proves difficult for him to cope with. But he leans on his family: on his wife and his daughter, who’s growing fast and learning more and more every day.

Yet even in the face of his own grief, he keeps an eye on Felicity. He’s careful about it, though; never too obvious or overprotective. He's clearly unwilling to smother the hope she still clings to, no matter that he's lost his own, and Felicity’s grateful for the care he shows her.

Thea’s inconsolable. She’s tired all the time, and she starts losing weight that she can’t afford to lose. She doesn’t leave her apartment, and she won’t talk to any of them when they call her or come by to visit.

In the end, Felicity moves her into the loft so she can look after her. She doesn’t give Thea a choice in the matter, but Thea’s too tired to fight her on it, and that tells Felicity everything she needs to know about how hard Thea is taking the loss of her brother. Felicity makes sure that she eats, taking her out for lunch or shoe shopping so she can get some fresh air. She even manages to coax her into coming out to see the newest Star Wars movie.

She thinks Thea might be getting better…until she wakes one night to hear Thea screaming for her brother. She finds her sweaty and shaking, in the throes of a terrible nightmare. Felicity tries her best to calm her, whispering soothing words and stroking her back. In the end, she pulls Thea close and rocks her back to sleep like she’s a child again, her heart aching for the girl who believes she’s finally lost the last of her family.

When Thea’s finally asleep once more, Felicity lies quietly next to her, rubbing her back soothingly, and she knows what she has to do. She can’t give Thea the kind of care and attention she so desperately needs; not when her main focus is still on finding Oliver. But there’s someone she knows who _can._

She calls Roy the next morning, and by mid afternoon he’s picked Thea up and taken her far away from Star City, leaving Felicity with a firm promise that he’s only a phone call away, and that he’ll keep her posted on how Thea’s doing.

Felicity knows she’s doing what’s best for Thea - for the girl she's begun to think of as family - but when she’s alone in the loft once more, a small, selfish part of her wants her little sister back.

 

* * *

 

And as for Felicity herself?

Every day is a struggle, but she faces it head on.

She gets out of bed in the morning, goes into the office at her fledgling company (Smoak Technologies) during the day, and uses her near unlimited resources to search for Oliver at night.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

She becomes a machine, because she has to.

Even as the weeks go by - one after the other with no news about Oliver - Felicity never gives up hope. She can’t afford to, because giving up hope means accepting that he’s gone, and she can’t do that. Not when they’d just gotten back together. Not when she’d finally started to think that they could make things work.

Not when she's spent every night for five weeks staring at the ring Oliver gave her last Christmas, running her fingers carefully over its surface before putting it on her end table and trying to get some sleep (after an entire bottle of wine and two frantic hours of searching, she'd finally found it in a small hand carved wooden box buried in the corner of his closet).

She can’t give up on Oliver. She _won_ _’t._

Not even when Thea calls her at two in the morning and tells her it's hopeless.

Not even when Diggle loses it one night and shoves his fist through a wall in the lair.

She tells Thea that they can’t give up on Oliver, because he’d never give up on them.

She pulls John’s hand out of the wall and hugs him tight when he cries.

She keeps going.

She runs on coffee and fumes and pure stubbornness, and the tiniest bit of denial that she refuses to acknowledge.

She’ll find him.

 _She has to_.

And then - eight weeks, two days, and nineteen hours after he was ripped from their lives – they finally find him.

 

* * *

 

They find him in an underground cave, deep in an abandoned mine shaft. The room is dark and cold, but a few lamps scattered across the walls give off enough light for her to see him.

His arms are tied above his head, where they hang from ropes attached to an overhead beam. His feet brush the ground, but not enough for him to stand. With his arms bearing his weight, the skin of his wrists is rubbed raw, small rivulets of blood dripping down his forearms. His hair is long, his light brown locks streaked with more gray than she’s ever seen, and his beard has grown in a scraggly mess. He's shirtless, dressed in nothing but crude pants tied loosely around his waist with a length of rope.

He’s thin, too thin; skin stretched tightly over his bones. His hard earned muscles have wasted away in his body’s struggle against starvation, and her stomach churns when she realizes that she can count his ribs. His skin is cracked and dry, and his eyes look sunken in from dehydration. His chest and arms are bruised and bleeding, and she suspects that some of his bones are broken. Worst of all, a number of his scars have been cut over, the skin reopened, like someone’s traced a knife over the clean white marks in an effort to make them bleed again. There’s a sick precision in the work, like some twisted literal play at reopening old wounds.

She barely recognizes him.

But then she calls his name, and when he looks up at her she realizes that all of that is nothing compared to the look in his eyes.

He hasn’t just been starved and tortured and cut open.

He’s been broken.

“Oliver? Oliver, it’s okay. I'm here.”

She takes a step toward him, slowly. She waits, then takes another. Diggle stands a quiet vigil in the doorway, the sounds of distant fighting echoing along the corridor outside. He’s watching her, watching both of them; keeping them safe.

Felicity takes another step toward Oliver.

He continues to stare at her: expressionless, no emotion behind his eyes. He doesn’t look scared, but he also doesn’t look happy to see her. It’s almost like he doesn’t recognize her at all.

Her stomach roils in protest, her heart thundering in her chest, and her blood turns to ice in her veins.

She looks at the man she loves, and it’s like there’s no one home.

“Oliver, it’s me,” she tries again, hands splayed out at her sides in a nonthreatening gesture. “Do you…do you remember me?”

The words hurt coming out, like a knife to the gut or a cord strangling her heart.

But she needs to know.

She needs to know if there’s any part of him left. Anything at all.

Because she can’t bear the thought that she’s finally found him…and she’s too late.

She steps closer, close enough that she could touch him if she just reached out.

“Oliver, please. Say something. _Anything_.”

She reaches a hand out, so close…

…and then he flinches.

She jerks her hand back with a quiet gasp. It’s the first time he’s moved since he looked up at her when she entered the room; the first time he’s reacted to her presence at all.

She almost wishes he hadn’t.

Tears rise in her eyes, but she fights them back.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Oliver. I just want to help you.”

She reaches out again, and he whimpers.

It’s easily the worst sound she’s ever heard in her life, and she bites back a sob, trying desperately to hold herself together.

“I’m here,” she assures him, but she doesn’t hold out her hand again. “I’m here. I’ve come to take you home.”

He continues to stare at her, fear in his eyes now, and she shakes her head, a quiet moan slipping past her lips. She’d just gotten him back…and then she’d lost him _again_. And now….

She’s gone through this so many times, and she’s terrified that this time will destroy her.

She can’t hide the pain in her voice when she tries to reach him one more time.

“It’s me, honey. It’s your Felicity.”

She hasn’t called him “honey” in nearly a year, and she’s never referred to herself as “your Felicity.”

…That was always _his_ thing.

 _“My Felicity._ _”_

 _“My girl. My light, my hope, my happiness. My everything._ _”_

 _“My always._ _”_

 _“My Felicity._ _”_

She holds out her hand again, refusing to give up, and he doesn’t flinch this time. She reaches in closer, taking a tentative half step toward him. He continues to stare, unmoving, and she can feel his breath against the palm of her hand now, hot and fast.

“Fe-li-ci-ty.”

His voice is hoarse – whether from disuse or from screaming, she doesn’t want to know – and his throat sounds raw… _but he_ _’s said her name_.

Her heart thuds in her chest, a spark of hope lighting up the darkness.

“That’s right, Oliver. It’s me. Felicity.”

Slowly, carefully, she touches his cheek, not daring to breathe….

He leans into her touch with a quiet sigh.

 _“Felicity,_ _”_ he whispers, and she’s never loved the sound of her own name coming from his lips more than she does right now.

“Oliver.”

She reaches up with her free hand and carefully grips his other cheek, cradling his face gently between her hands.

“…Felicity.”

She lets the tears fall down her cheeks, and she smiles at him.

“It’s okay, baby. I’m going to take you home.”

She doesn’t want to let go of him – not now, not ever again – but they have to get him out of here. She steps back and turns toward John, who still stands quietly in the doorway. She nods at him, and he walks slowly and carefully into the room.

Oliver doesn’t flinch as Felicity pulls a knife out of her pocket and starts to cut the ropes tying him to the beam overhead. He doesn’t scream or cry out when Diggle positions himself on his right side, wrapping one arm around his thin torso and preparing himself to shoulder Oliver’s weight.

When Felicity gets the second rope cut, Oliver’s feet hit the floor, and while his legs tremble, he doesn’t fall. Diggle catches Oliver’s right wrist, slinging his arm over his shoulder and squeezing his hand lightly. Oliver takes the hint and grips Diggle’s shoulder, leaning against him and letting him bear some of his weight. Diggle holds Oliver tightly against him, his left hand on Oliver’s hip, and as he adjusts slightly under the shift in weight, tears rise in his eyes.

“He’s so light,” John whispers, and Felicity finds that she has to bite her lip to keep from crying.

But they pull themselves together, and as John helps Oliver walk out of the room, Felicity walks quietly next to them.

She notices that Oliver’s legs continue to tremble, but he walks of his own accord, and the sight of it makes her heart feel just a little bit lighter.

She places a tentative hand on his shoulder, and Oliver turns to look at her.

“Felicity,” he says quietly, and his lips tug upward in the barest hint of a smile; so fast she would have missed it if she’d blinked.

She doesn’t miss it, though.

She also doesn’t miss the pain written clear as day in every line of his face. She also doesn’t miss the fear and desperation in his gaze, or the dark shadows that loom behind his eyes. She also doesn’t miss the tears slipping down his cheeks, or the fact that he’s been crying silently to himself while they’ve been slowly marching him from his prison.

There’s one thing she does miss at first; one thing she doesn’t let herself think about until the three of them are safe in her car, on their way to the hospital.

Her name is the only word that Oliver can say.

 _…tbc_ _…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from one of my favorite lines by Uncle Iroh in "Avatar: The Last Airbender." Full quote is: "In the darkest times, hope is something you give yourself. That is the meaning of inner strength." I've been thinking about how this line applies to Oliver and Felicity both as individuals and as a couple far too much lately.
> 
> While this does start off as what you might call "re-established" Olicity, I do plan to delve a bit into how they got back together as the story goes on.
> 
> Comments are appreciated as always! Thanks for reading. :)


	2. You Can Trust Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity and Diggle take Oliver home. Felicity assesses the damage to Oliver's body and mind, praying that he still trusts her. Diggle and Felicity lean on each other even as Oliver leans on them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm REALLY sorry it took me so long to get another chapter out. Work's been leaving me really tired recently and it's been hard for me to find the energy I need to devote to writing. I promise I haven't abandoned this story. Writing when you're tired is just kind of impossible. :(
> 
> I'm going to spoil the chapter a tiny bit for the sake of warnings. For this chapter, I’m adding the following tag to the story: "discussions of rape, but no actual rape." In short, Felicity asks Oliver if he’s been raped, and he promises her that he hasn’t. There are no graphic descriptions in the scene, but if discussions of rape bother you, I’ve put “ ***** ” at the beginning and end of the small section you can easily skip over if you’d like.

**_< \--Chapter One: You Can Trust Me-->_ **

As John drives them toward the nearest hospital, Felicity uses the comm link to get an update from the rest of the team. Lyla assures Felicity that everyone is okay – a bit banged up, but nothing a few days’ rest won’t heal. Then Lyla informs her that despite the element of surprise they assumed they had, Prometheus and his team were able to evade capture. Felicity's loath to hear it, but considering that they were able to save Oliver, she's more than willing to call this a win. After Lyla promises that she and Quentin will make sure everyone gets patched up and home safely, Felicity turns off her earpiece and looks over at Oliver.

He’s staring out the window, eyes open wide as he cradles his left hand against his chest.

_A broken wrist._

His breathing seems a bit off, as though every breath hurts him more than it should.

_Bruised ribs._

His clean white scars are open wounds now, and she cringes at the sight of fresh blood gradually seeping out of the gash on his stomach from where Ra’s stabbed him.

 _Broken_ _…bruised_ _…bleeding._ All words she hates, and all words she never wants to apply to the man she loves.

As she gazes at Oliver’s silent form, another word comes to her.

_Small._

Felicity never thought she’d use the word “small” in reference to Oliver Queen, but the word fits him now in more ways than one. He looks like he hasn’t eaten in a long time, and his normally large and intimidating frame seems hunched. He’s clearly been beaten down, and not just physically. She can see it in the way his gaze darts anxiously from side to side as he watches out the window. She can see it in the way he sits curled in on himself, his right hand scratching nervously at the sore and bleeding skin of his left wrist.

“Don’t do that,” she whispers gently, reaching across the space between them. She’s barely touched his right arm when he jerks it away from her with a gasp, shoving himself deep into the corner of the backseat, somehow managing to make himself even smaller.

“It’s okay, Oliver,” she assures him, and she reaches her hand out again, but she doesn’t touch him this time. “It’s just me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Oliver stares at her quietly, eyes wide and breathing heavy. Felicity waits patiently, hand outstretched carefully, not wanting to rush him.

And then, finally, his body relaxes. He nods, pulling away from the car door he’s jammed himself up against, and he leans back against the seat again, eyes never leaving her.

Felicity tries to touch him again, and this time he allows her to place her hand on his right shoulder. Oliver lets out a long, deep breath, muscles visibly relaxing under her touch, and she sighs with relief. He leans his head back against the seat, gaze still fixed on her, and he’s calmer now; less hunched in on himself, less tense. She turns her body toward his on the seat, rubbing his shoulder gently.

“You don’t have to be scared, Oliver. Everything’s going to be okay. I’m here now.”

Oliver tilts his head toward her against the seatback, closing his eyes, and she’s rewarded with the smallest of smiles.

 _“FeLIcity,_ _”_ Oliver whispers, and she’s surprised to find that she knows exactly what he’s trying to say, even if he can’t form the words.

_Thank you._

She smiles back at him, hand still stroking his shoulder.

“Always,” she whispers.

As she watches him quietly, she doesn’t let herself think about the fact that all he’s said since they rescued him is her name. Right now he needs to see a doctor. He needs stitches and X-rays and an IV. She can only worry about one thing at a time if she wants to have any hope of keeping herself together for Oliver’s sake.

She’s just about to ask John how much longer until they reach the hospital when suddenly-

“We’re here,” John says carefully, and Felicity doesn’t miss the slight tremble in his voice.

She turns to look out the passenger side window, and the sight of the hospital coming into view makes her heart beat faster. As the bright lights of the ER entrance flood the dark interior of the car, she looks over at Oliver.

“We’re here, honey,” she says carefully, shaking his shoulder gently. “We’re going to get you some help.”

Oliver opens his eyes and looks out the window.

The change is fast and completely unexpected.

Oliver jerks away from her with a yelp, shoving himself back against the door again. He shakes his head at her and whines.

It’s a sound she’s never heard him make before; a sound that breaks her heart.

“It’s okay, Oliver,” she tells him soothingly. “No one’s going to hurt you.”

She reaches out to him and he shakes his head again.

“FELICITY!” Oliver shouts, and once again – even though it’s just her name – she knows exactly what he means.

_NO._

“Oliver…you need to go inside. You need _help_.”

Oliver slams his head back against the door, and the sound of his skull cracking against the glass has her moving toward him even as he shouts her name again.

She scoots across the seat, moving closer to him. She puts her hand on his knee, and though he flinches, he doesn’t cry out. “I’m not going to leave you,” she promises. “I’ll be with you the whole time.” Her heart pounds painfully in her chest as she scoots in even closer, her knee bumping into his.

She’s desperate. Oliver _needs_ to be here. He’s been starved and dehydrated. He’s been tortured. He’s been beaten and bruised and his wrist is clearly broken and some of his ribs might be, too.

He needs to be here; she needs to get him inside.

She decides to take a risk, and she grips his right wrist in her hand to try and pull him out of the car.

He screams – a bloodcurdling cry that sets her teeth on edge – and she hates herself for causing it. She lets go of him as quick as if his skin had burned her, and her hand comes back bloody. She wipes it against her pants in a futile attempt to remove the blood as he starts scratching hard at the wrist she grabbed: already raw and bleeding from the cords that tied him up.

Tears well in Felicity’s eyes, but she fights them back.

“Honey, please,” she begs him. “You need to let me help you.”

He whines again, turning his face away from her, and there are tears running down his cheeks as he shakes his head.

“ _Felicity_ _…”_

_Please don_ _’t make me._

She covers her mouth with her hand, just in time to muffle the sob that escapes her.

A hand on her shoulder grounds her before she can fall to pieces.

“Should I…do you want me to get him out?” Diggle asks.

Felicity turns to him desperately. She begins to climb out of the car, and when she stumbles, Diggle grips her arms tightly and steadies her. She turns around to look at Oliver, taking strength from John’s strong grip on her shoulders and his steadying presence at her back.

Oliver watches her apprehensively, gazing over her shoulder at Diggle, and she can see his body tensing up.

She grabs John’s hand, still firm on her shoulder, and she grips his fingers as tightly as she can and steels herself.

Oliver _needs_ this. He needs his friends. He needs _her_.

“Oliver, John’s going to help you get out of the car now.”

Diggle lets go of her shoulder and steps around her. He bends down slowly, moving to enter the car.

And that’s when Oliver loses it.

He screams, trying to fling himself away from them, but he’s already shoved up against the car door and he can’t go anywhere. He slams his head back against the window hard, whimpering loudly as he turns away from them. As Diggle backs away from the car in shock, Oliver slams his forehead against the glass. He’s just started slapping the glass with his hands when Felicity’s finally able to make her legs move.

She kneels down on the seat and climbs back into the car. Oliver moans, slamming his right fist against the window.  He shoves his body closer to the door as if desperate to melt into it; to get as far away from her and this awful place as he can.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s okay,” she tries to soothe him, but he’s inconsolable.

She inches slowly across the seat, stopping when she’s close enough to touch him.

“I’m sorry, Oliver, I’m so sorry.”

She grabs his shoulder, and he flinches away from her, but she doesn’t let go.

 _“What_ _’ve they done to you?_ _”_ she whispers, her voice shaking against her will.

He whines her name, like he’s begging her to help him, and that’s all she wants to do…but she can’t make him get out of this car; she _won_ _’t._

“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay,” she assures him, and her voice breaks. “You don’t have to get out. We’ll get you help some other way.” She starts to stroke his shoulder gently.

_“Felicity._ _”_

He smacks his left hand against the glass this time, and the hit sends a jolt of pain through the wrist she now knows to be broken. He tears his hand away from the glass, cradling it carefully against his chest as he whimpers in pain.

“Oh, _Oliver._ Oliver.”

She can’t bear to see him like this; to see him hurting himself. It’s killing her, and she wants nothing more than to cry with him.

But he needs her right now. She can’t break; she can’t give in to her tears.

_Not yet, not yet._

He needs her to be strong…so strong is what she’s going to be.

She reaches around him and grabs his other shoulder in her free hand. She grips his shoulders firmly.

“I’m here, Oliver. It’s going to be okay. _I_ _’m here._ ”

She’s not sure what it is, but something finally gets through to him. He turns to her, gazing up at her through wet, bloodshot eyes. She smiles at him, fighting hard against her fear and her own tears threatening to spill over.

“It’s _okay_ ,” she tells him again fiercely.

And with a whimper of her name, Oliver shoves himself away from the door and collapses against her chest.

She gasps in surprise, but she doesn’t let go; she wraps her arms around him and holds on tight. He doesn’t hold her back, holding his arms tightly to himself instead, curling up against her. He buries his face against her chest, and his hot tears soak against her shirt.

Felicity rubs his back soothingly with one hand, gently running the fingers of her other hand through his hair and against his head.

“John,” she says, and the strong demeanor she’s trying desperately to uphold is betrayed by the trembling in her voice.

“Yeah,” he answers from where he still stands outside the car, and she can tell that she’s not the only one barely holding it together.

“Take us home. _Please._ _”_

* * *

The ride back to Star City is long and silent. Felicity holds Oliver close the entire time, her arm wrapped around his waist and his head on her shoulder. His tears dry slowly on his face as his eyelids start to grow heavy. She strokes his hip gently as he rests. It’s an unconscious gesture, and she’s not sure whether it’s meant to soothe him or her.

Thirty minutes out from Star City, Oliver finally falls asleep against her. Carefully, she scoots closer to him, holding him tighter to her side as she turns slightly toward him on the seat and grips his right hand. She strokes her fingers along his knuckles, her heart aching as she feels how dry and bloody his skin is. His breathing is ragged and uneven, even in his sleep, and she still can’t get used to how thin he is.

She wants to cry, but she knows she can’t.

_Not yet, not yet._

And so she pushes her feelings away: way down deep where Oliver can’t see them. She doesn’t say a word, and neither does he. She sits quietly and holds him and hopes that in some small way she’s helping him.

When Diggle finally breaks the silence to announce that they’re back at the loft, Felicity gently nudges Oliver awake.

“Wake up, Oliver. We’re home.”

* * *

They take the elevator up to the top floor, and Diggle helps Oliver walk home just as he helped him walk out of his prison. He stands strong and silent at Oliver’s side, shouldering what’s left of his best friend’s weight without complaint. The occasional bite of his lip is the only indication Felicity has that John’s struggling with this as much as she is.

As she opens the door to the loft and they step inside, Oliver looks around slowly, cautiously. He’s taking the place in, like maybe he’s forgotten what it looks like.

“You remember the loft, don’t you, honey?” she asks gently, and the fact that she has to utter those words at all makes her chest ache.

When Oliver’s finished his inspection, he turns back to her and nods.

“Good,” she responds with a sigh of relief. “That’s good. Why don’t we bring you upstairs and get you cleaned up? Is that okay?”

“Felicity,” Oliver responds simply, and she knows it means “yes.”

With the railing on his left and John on his right, Oliver limps carefully up the stairs, taking them one at a time.

It’s slow going. Something’s clearly wrong with Oliver’s right leg, and so he uses only his left leg to push himself up each step. But John is patient, and Felicity whispers words of encouragement as he goes, keeping a steadying hand at his back. When they reach the top, Oliver’s out of breath, and they stop for a minute so he can catch it. Felicity rubs his back soothingly the entire time.

When he’s able to move again, they lead him toward Felicity’s bedroom, where John guides him down gently onto the bed. Oliver sits quietly on the edge of the mattress, looking cautiously around him again. It’s like he’s trying to remember the place. Or maybe….

 _He_ _’s assessing it for danger,_ Felicity thinks to herself. She shakes her head, filled once more with a cold dread at the thought of what those bastards have done to him.

“John, will you call the team while I look him over? Let them know what’s going on?”

“Of course,” Diggle answers, and he squeezes her shoulder tightly before he leaves the room.

She watches him go, then turns back to find Oliver gazing at her quietly.

She smiles down at him, trying her best to look encouraging.

“I’m going to help you, Oliver. I promise.”

Oliver nods, returning her smile, and her heart flutters in her chest at the look in his eyes…because despite everything he’s been through, there’s a trust there still. It’s small, and it’s fragile…but it’s there.

They haven’t taken everything from him.

A spark of hope lights up in her chest, and she has to clear her throat before she can speak again.

“I’m going to call someone to help you, Oliver, but I want to check you over first. Is that okay?”

“Felicity,” Oliver says with a nod.

Felicity sighs, mentally preparing herself for what she’s about to do.

“Sit back against the headboard for me, okay?” she asks gently.

Oliver obliges, pulling his legs up onto the bed and scooting back against the headboard slowly, wincing slightly when he puts pressure on his left hand.

And so Felicity takes a deep breath as she sits down next to him and assesses the damage to his body.

The first thing she checks is his left wrist, and she finds that it is most definitely broken. It’s twisted awkwardly to the side, and a gentle touch causes him to gasp. A quick glance shows dark bruises layered under the raw, bleeding skin of his wrist.

She runs her hands carefully over his chest next, pressing gently against his too prominent ribs. He flinches, but doesn’t make a sound, and while she suspects that nothing’s broken, the dark bruising worries her.

Aside from the obvious damage to his ribs and his wrist, the only other thing that worries her on the front of his body are the dozens of cuts and bruises that litter his chest and arms. She knows without a doubt that some of the cuts are new; she’s mapped his skin more times than she can count, and she knows his body just as well as she knows her own. But many of the cuts are old wounds given new life.

Every single one of his scars has been reopened. The wound from where Ra’s stabbed him on the mountaintop is an angry red and slowly leaking blood, so it’s probably the newest. But there are dozens of others. A series of cuts on his lower left abdomen that she knows are from his time on the island – the first time he was ever tortured. The bullet wound on his shoulder that left him bleeding to death in the back of her car – the night she found out that he was the man under the hood. The shark bite on his lower hip, also from his time on the island – the second time. She shudders at the sight of the teeth marks, which look like they’ve been pierced into with a knife and dug open with slow precision, and she thinks suddenly about all the scars he has on his back, too.

She puts a hand on his shoulder and asks him to lean forward. He does so, slowly and carefully, and Felicity finds what she expected: they’ve left no scar untouched. The long, painful whipping scars on his back have been reopened, leaving deep gashes that no longer bleed but look painful and discolored; while he’s not showing signs of infection right now, the threat is very real. They’ve even reburned his lower back, and skin that used to be white is red and raw once more.

It’s clear to her that someone’s taken a real pleasure in seeing that all of Oliver’s old wounds have been revisited. It’s sick, twisted work, as though someone made it their mission to dig up Oliver’s past and make him relive it.

Felicity bites her tongue and wills herself not to cry.

_Not yet, not yet._

Instead she puts a hand on his shoulder, and she’s just about to ask him to lie back again when something catches her eye. Her hand tenses against Oliver’s shoulder, and he lets out a confused “Felicity?” as she lets go of his shoulder and uses both hands to brush his hair away from his neck.

At the top of his neck, just under his hairline, there’s a sore looking patch of bright red skin….

…and it’s littered with needle marks.

Felicity gasps, letting his hair fall back into place, and her mind starts racing a mile a minute. So many needle marks, scattered across the skin of his neck. Why were they shoving needles into him? Were they taking blood samples, or…or were they _injecting him_? Were they testing drugs on him? Were they using drugs to fuck with his mind; to play with him on the inside the same way they were playing with him on the outside?

Is this how they were able to break him?

“ _Oh, Oliver_ ,” she whispers, carefully moving his hair away from his neck again so she can get a closer look. Nearly a dozen marks cover the skin above his spine, and she reaches out a hand to touch him. Her fingers brush lightly over the marks, and without warning, Oliver jerks away from her touch.

“FELICITY!” he shouts, moving his right hand up to cover his neck, and she apologizes quickly.

“I’m sorry, honey. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Oliver shakes his head, staring at her quietly as he drops his hand back into his lap.

“Oliver…did they do this to you a lot?” she asks carefully, gesturing at the spot on his neck.

Oliver nods, biting his lower lip, and he turns away from her, staring down at his hands.

“When they did this to you, did they…did it hurt?”

Oliver nods again, tears rising in his eyes, and he starts scratching absently at his left wrist.

She knows she should stop before she upsets him, but she’s so close to getting some real answers.

“When they did this to you…did you start to hear things that weren’t real, or…or see things that weren’t really there?”

A quiet sob escapes him, and she knows she’s gone too far. Oliver shakes his head and whines her name as he starts to cry.

_“Felicity_ _…._ _”_

“Oh, baby, I’m sorry,” she says quietly, and she reaches out and puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. He tenses, but he doesn’t pull away. “I’m sorry I pushed you. I should’ve known better. We don’t have to talk about it anymore if you don’t want to.”

Oliver nods, tears falling silently now. Felicity leans in tentatively, and when he doesn’t pull away, she places a gentle kiss against the side of his forehead. He leans into her touch, sighing quietly, and she lingers for a bit before breathing “I’m sorry” against his skin.

 _“FeLIcity,_ _”_ he whispers, letting out a long, deep sigh…and it sounds like he’s forgiving her.

She kisses him again, firmer this time, and when she pulls away she whispers, “thank you.”

Oliver nods, turning to face her once more, and his tears have stopped.

She stares at him quietly, marveling at his ability to forgive her so easily. There’s a lot about him that’s different now, and yet…some things haven’t changed.

She’ll mention the needle marks to the doctor later, but for now, Felicity thinks it’s best to let it go. She still wants to finish checking him over. Felicity lets out a long, deep sigh of her own, and she puts her hand on his shoulder once more.

“Lie back, honey,” she prompts gently, and he does. She looks him over carefully, sighing as her gaze finally settles on his lower stomach. Aside from the broken wrist and bruised ribs, the damage that she can see with her eyes doesn’t have her terribly worried. He’s suffered like this many times before and come out okay.

It’s the damage she _can_ _’t_ see that worries her. Possible internal injuries, the risk of infection….

And what’s been done to him psychologically.

 _That_ _’s_ what worries her the most. The skittishness and fear. The memory loss. His unwillingness to acknowledge Diggle. The self-harm.

His inability to say anything but her name, over and over again.

His internal injuries worry her far more than the external ones. Medicine, splints and stitches, food and water, rest and time: all of that will heal his body eventually.

But the way they’ve broken him on the inside? She has no idea how to fix that.

“Felicity?”

The sound of her name being called from behind her pulls her suddenly from her thoughts. She looks over her shoulder as a gentle knock sounds from the wall just outside the bedroom.

“Come in, John,” she prompts tiredly, and he enters the room slowly.

“I called the team, told them that Oliver’s okay. They’re going to patch themselves up back at the lair and head home.”

Felicity nods, turning back to Oliver.

“What did you tell them about….”

“Oliver’s condition?” Digg asks, and Felicity bites her lower lip, turning back to face him.

“Yeah,” she responds, willing her voice to keep from shaking.

“I told them he’s alive. That he’s beat up and confused. I didn’t…I didn’t tell them everything. Just that…that it’s going to take some time for him to heal. I couldn’t….” He trails off, turning away from her and running his hands over his head.

“It’s okay,” she tries to assure him, but she doesn’t sound convincing even to her own ears.

“It’s really not,” John responds, turning back to her, and she can’t bear to see her own sadness reflected back at her in his eyes. “He needs a doctor, Felicity.”

“And we’ll get him one. Do you remember Dr. Schwartz? The doctor Oliver brought Laurel to when she was still dressed as Black Canary?”

“Yeah,” Digg responds, nodding his head. “Yeah, I remember. Do you think she’ll help?”

“She didn’t just find out Laurel’s secret that night; she found out Oliver’s, too. Oliver told me that she promised to help him in the future if she could. I just hope she’s willing to make a house call.”

John smiles, and it’s the first smile she’s seen on his face in a very long time.

“I’ll give her a call,” he says, and as he turns to leave the room she stops him.

“Before you call her, there’s something I want to do. Will you run a bath for me?”

John turns back to her, comprehension slowly dawning on his face.

“The usual?” he asks, and Felicity shakes her head.

“Use the lavender oil but skip the salt. He has too many open cuts.”

John nods, and he moves to the master bathroom to start filling the tub.

“The usual” is a hot bath with a mixture of lavender oil and Epsom salt thrown in. It’s a combination she’s used with Oliver in the past, on those nights when he’s come home so sore and bruised from fighting crime that he can’t sleep for the pain. It’s the same combination he used with her after her accident, on those nights when she woke up crying from the pain of her muscles cramping. The Epsom salt and lavender oil combination has helped both of them in the past: easing the pain of sore, cramped muscles, relaxing the mind and body, and making it easier to sleep.

From the look (and smell) of it, Oliver’s captors rarely washed him. He needs this bath not just to soothe his aches but to get clean and hopefully promote healthy healing.

But first….

At the sound of water starting to fill the tub, Felicity moves her mind back to the task at hand. She needs to see the damage to Oliver’s lower body, too.

She rests her hands carefully on his hips, fingers playing at the rope tying his pants to his thin waist.

“Oliver, honey…I need to take your pants off now. I have to see if you’re hurt anywhere else. Is that okay?”

He stares at her long and hard, not speaking. Sensing his hesitation, Felicity runs her hands gently along his sides. She grips his right hand in her left, stroking the thumb of her other hand gently against the skin of his abdomen.

“It’s okay, sweetie. I’m not going to hurt you. I promise. I just want to help you, remember?”

Finally, Oliver squeezes her hand and nods, responding with an affirmative, “Felicity.”

Felicity lets out a deep breath, and she squeezes his hand back before letting go, gripping the rope belt once more.

“I’m going to untie this, Oliver. Nod your head if that’s okay.”

He nods, and Felicity unties the rope, letting it fall to the sides. The pants hang loose enough on his body now that she should be able to get them off with minimal effort on his part.

“I’m going to take them off now, Oliver. I need you to lift your hips off the bed just a little bit when I say so. Nod if you understand.”

Oliver nods, and she notes how his hands curl into fists around the bedspread underneath him.

“Okay, honey. On the count of three. One.”

She grips the fabric of his pants in her hands.

“Two.”

She pulls them slowly down his legs, and when they won’t come down any farther because he’s sitting on them, she stops.

“Three.”

Oliver lifts himself off the bed, just long enough for her to slide the pants out from under his butt. As he sits back down, wincing slightly in pain, Felicity carefully pulls the pants down and off his legs. She drops the thin, filthy material to the floor in disgust and, bracing herself, she turns back to Oliver.

It’s not good…but it’s not as bad as she’d feared.

The first thing she notices is that he’s fully intact, and she breathes out a sigh of relief. She’s been given no reason to suspect that they’ve hurt him in more sinister ways than what she’s already seen, but considering his mental state it wouldn’t have surprised her.

She glances down his body, noticing more cuts and bruises along his legs. There’s a long, deep cut along his inner right thigh, stretching from knee to pelvis, and she shudders at the sight. She can’t imagine how painful that one was, or how scared he must have been when they cut him so close to his groin. Her gaze travels down that same leg to his kneecap, and she finds it covered in dark bruises. When she moves to touch it, Oliver flinches and shakes his head.

“Felicity!”

The word clearly means _no_ , and Felicity sighs, adding “broken kneecap” to her mental list. His right ankle looks painfully twisted, and between the ankle, the knee, and his thigh, the cause of his limping is now quite clear to her.

His left leg, thankfully, is barely touched. But like the rest of him, his legs are far too skinny. Lack of exercise and an inadequate diet have eaten away at his muscles and fat reserves, leaving him skin and bones. It’s a look she never thought she’d see on him, and as she looks him over from toe to head she bites down hard on her lower lip to keep from crying.

_Not yet, not yet._

He needs her to be strong right now.

As her gaze travels back down his body, she stares at his midsection…and a horrible thought hits her hard and fast. She gasps as her heart squeezes painfully in her chest.

*****

“Oliver…honey….”

She can’t say it; she _can_ _’t_.

She can’t ask him this question because she’s scared to death of the answer.

“Oliver…did they hurt you in any other way? Did they…did they hurt you _here_?”  she asks, gesturing at his groin. “Or maybe…somewhere else I can’t see?”

She can’t say the words; God help her, she can’t say them. She’s starting to feel sick at the mere thought of it.

Oliver shakes his head, but it’s not enough confirmation. As much as it pains her, as sick as the mere thought of it makes her feel, she needs to know for sure. She fights back the impending nausea, takes a deep breath…and says four words she never wants to say ever again.

“Oliver…did they rape you?”

Realization dawns on his face, and she wants to throw up….

But then he shakes his head vehemently.

Felicity gasps, heart racing in her chest, and while it seems like an answer she’s still panicking and she needs to be sure.

“Oliver, this is important. I need…I need you to promise me, Oliver. Do you promise me that they didn’t hurt you that way?”

Tears rise in her eyes against her will, and she doesn’t realize that her hands are shaking until Oliver reaches out and grabs them.

“ _Felicity._ ” He squeezes her hands tightly and nods.

A sob escapes her, and she blinks back her tears before he can see them fall.

_Not yet, not yet._

“Do you promise?”

Oliver nods again and squeezes her hands.

“Felicity.”

*****

She lets out a long, deep sigh as the tension slowly leaves her body. She squeezes his hands and sits up straighter, steeling herself.

“Okay. Okay, baby, I understand. I’m-”

“Felicity? Is everything okay?”

John’s voice calls out from the doorway to the bathroom, and she realizes that she missed the sound of the water being turned off.

“It’s…we’re fine, John. Just give me a minute.”

She lets go of Oliver’s hands and reaches over to the other side of the bed, grabbing a neatly folded blanket off the end of it. She unfolds it and carefully covers Oliver’s lower body with it.

“Come on out,” she says, and as she turns toward the bathroom door and away from Oliver, she wipes discreetly at her eyes.

Diggle steps slowly into the room, taking in the scene before him.

“How is he?” John asks carefully. His arms are crossed tightly over his chest, and between his tense posture and the fearful look in his eyes, Felicity knows he overheard at least part of her conversation with Oliver.

“He’s okay,” she assures him, and she watches John physically relax. “A few broken bones, some deep cuts and bruises, malnutrition. He…he’ll be okay.”

Diggle sighs, and he uncrosses his arms.

“Good. Good, that’s…that’s good.” He runs one hand over his head and points back at the bathroom with the other. “Bath’s ready.”

Felicity nods, and she turns her gaze back to Oliver.

Between his busted knee and twisted ankle, getting him into the tub is not going to be easy. She’s not entirely sure she can do it by herself.

It’s like Diggle can read her thoughts.

“I can help,” he offers, taking a step closer to the bed.

Felicity nods, staring down at Oliver.

“He’s…I took the pants off because I needed to check him out. I don’t…maybe I can find him something to wear, but I don’t think….” She trails off, staring regretfully down at Oliver. She feels a big, strong hand land on her shoulder, and Diggle squeezes it firmly. She reaches back and wraps her fingers around John’s. “Nothing he has is going to fit him anymore,” she finishes, her voice breaking slightly at the end.

“Felicity….” Diggle squeezes her shoulder again, trying to offer her strength. “It’s okay. We can try and wrap the blanket around him if he wants, but...I’ll help him however I can.”

The meaning of his words isn’t lost on her, and Felicity sighs. It _would_ be easier to help Oliver without the blanket hindering him. She lets go of John and puts both of her hands on the edges of the blanket covering Oliver’s legs.

“Oliver, John’s going to help get you to the bathtub. I need to clean your cuts and wipe the dirt off of you. Is that okay?”

Oliver glances toward the bathroom, brows furrowing.

“Do you remember how good those baths used to feel after a long night?”

He continues to stare at the bathroom, lost in thought. Finally, he turns back to her…and he shakes his head.

“That’s okay,” she responds, trying hard not let him see just how much his memory loss is affecting her. “Well, this bath is going to feel good, and it’s going to help you. I promise.”

Oliver stares at her quietly. And then, finally, he says her name and nods.

“Felicity.”

She sighs in relief and tries again.

“Is it okay if John helps you?”

Oliver glances over her shoulder, staring long and hard at Diggle, like he’s trying to decide if the other man is safe. Felicity can’t even imagine how that feels for John, and when his hand starts to tremble against her shoulder she reaches up and grabs it, wrapping her fingers around his and squeezing tightly.

“John is your friend, Oliver. I know you don’t remember that right now, but he loves you. He loves you and he wants to help you. You’re like a brother to him.”

She hears a sharp intake of breath behind her, and she squeezes John’s hand harder.

“Do you trust me, Oliver?”

Oliver tears his gaze away from Diggle and looks back to her, tears welling in his eyes.

_“FeLIcity._ _”_

It’s a _yes_ , but there’s also a conviction behind it that’s stronger than any she’s heard since they rescued him. The fact that he can still look at her with so much trust in his eyes after everything he’s been through still floors her.

“Then trust me when I tell you that John would never hurt you.”

And then, finally, Oliver nods.

She sighs in relief at the same time that a quiet sob escapes Diggle. She squeezes John’s hand hard once more before pulling away to touch the blanket again.

“I need to take the blanket off so we can get you to the tub. Is that okay?”

Oliver looks down at the blanket, then back up at her, clearly apprehensive.

“You remember what I said, right, honey? John only wants to help you, just like I do.”

Oliver looks over her shoulder at Diggle….

…and John speaks directly to Oliver for the first time since they rescued him.

“She’s right, Oliver. I just want to help you get better.”

Finally, Oliver looks back at Felicity and nods.

She grips the edges of the blanket tighter. “I’m going to take this off, then John’s going to help you walk to the bathroom; just like he’s been helping you all night. Is that okay?”

Oliver nods, and without another word Felicity pulls the blanket off of him and stands. John moves around her, stepping next to the bed.

“Can you stand up on your own?” she asks, and Oliver nods. He maneuvers himself carefully to the edge of the bed, dropping his feet down to the floor. He uses his arms to push himself up, standing slowly on trembling legs. He fumbles just a bit as he tries to stand up straight, but John grabs his right arm and steadies him.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” Digg assures him, and he pulls Oliver’s arm up and around his back, resting Oliver’s hand on his shoulder. “I’ve got you,” he tells him again, and he hooks his left arm around Oliver’s back and carefully grips his side.

Felicity steps around them, standing in front of Oliver.

“Ready?”

Oliver nods, and she steps aside as Diggle slowly helps him walk. She follows them into the bathroom, ready to help if she’s needed.

Which turns out to be a good thing, because as soon as Oliver sees the bathtub full of water, he panics.

“FELICITY!” Oliver yells, and he jerks hard under John’s hands, slamming into the wall next to the door. The sudden movement catches Digg off guard, but his reflexes are good, and he holds on to Oliver tighter as he starts to struggle in his arms.

“What’s wrong?” Felicity asks, stepping around them so she can stand in front of Oliver. “It’s just a bath, Oliver. It’s fine.”

“ _Felicity,_ _”_ Oliver whines, and he shakes his head, trying to wiggle out of John’s grasp. But Digg is stronger than he is, and he holds on tight. Diggle looks at Felicity in confusion, but she’s just as lost as he is.

“Oliver, look at me. _Look at me_.”

She puts her hands on either side of his face and forces his gaze down to hers. He whimpers, trying to jerk away, but she doesn’t let him.

“Remember what I told you, Oliver. _You can trust me_. There is nothing in this room that is going to hurt you. I promise. Whatever those monsters did to you, it’s in the past.”

He shakes his head, and tears are streaming down his face now, but he doesn’t look away this time. He tries once more to get out of Digg’s grasp, but Diggle’s like a mountain next to him, and he pulls Oliver closer to his side, refusing to let go.

“Easy, Oliver, easy,” John soothes. “It’s okay. Listen to what she’s saying.”

Felicity uses her fingers to gently brush the tears off Oliver’s face, grateful for John’s strong presence at her side.

“You’re safe here, honey. _You_ _’re safe._ We’re not going to let anything happen to you here. I promise.”

And while she’s not entirely sure it’s a promise that she can keep, what she promises next is one she knows she can.

“John and I will do _whatever it takes_ to keep you safe, Oliver. I promise you that. I can’t…I can’t lose you again. I _won_ _’t._ ”

Oliver lets out a quiet sob, turning his gaze down to the floor, and without even thinking she stands on the tips of her toes and kisses his forehead softly.

He gasps under her touch, but he doesn’t pull away, and she smiles against his skin before pulling back. Her hands still haven’t left his face, and she strokes his cheeks gently.

“I love you, Oliver. So, so much.”

Oliver’s breath hitches in his chest. Then he looks back up at her…and he says one word.

_“Fe-LI-ci-ty._ _”_

She smiles at him, cradling his face in her hands.

“Do you love me, too?”

He nods, and then he says her name again, the same way he’d said it before:

_“Fe-LI-ci-ty._ _”_

And she understands.  It’s just one word, but she knows within her soul that it’s really three.

She stares at him silently, taking a moment to memorize the new way he says “I love you.”

Then he says it again, louder and more insistently, and he nods his head fervently, like he desperately needs her to understand his meaning.

She nods her head in return.

“It’s okay. I understand, Oliver. You love me.”

He nods again.

“And I love you. Which is why I need you to trust me when I say that this is not going to hurt you.”

She lets go of his face and steps to his side, allowing him a view of the warm, calm, fragrant water filling the tub.

“Look,” she says, and she walks to the tub and dips her hand into it. “It’s water,” she assures him, pulling her hand out. “Just water. Nothing in this room can hurt you.” She steps back over toward him, and she places her wet hand on his chest, directly over his racing heart.

“It’s okay,” she tells him. _“It_ _’s okay._ _”_

Oliver stares down at her long and hard, his gaze so intense it’s like he’s looking into her soul.

But eventually, he stops shaking. His breathing calms, and his heartbeat slows down under her palm.

Finally, he closes his eyes, sighs deeply…and nods.

“Are you ready to get in the tub now?”

He opens his eyes and nods, saying a quiet “Felicity” as he does so, and relief floods her chest.

“Good, Oliver. That’s good. John?”

Digg stares at her like he can’t quite believe that she’s real, but with a glance from her he quickly pulls his mind back to the situation at hand.

“Come on, Oliver,” he prompts gently, and when he starts walking the few short steps to the tub, Oliver moves with him.

John is strong and unwavering, and Felicity watches quietly as he tells Oliver to pick up his left leg and put it in the tub.

Oliver does as he’s asked, but his right leg trembles underneath him, and just as his left foot clears the rim of the tub, he stumbles. His left foot crashes into the water, and he’s about to fall headfirst into the tub when Digg moves his arm down Oliver’s side and catches him around the waist. Oliver gasps as he grabs John’s arm with his left hand and holds on, his right hand digging into John’s right shoulder as he catches his balance.

“It’s okay, brother; I’ve got you,” John assures him.

And tears well in Felicity’s eyes as she watches her two favorite men hold on tight to each other; in more ways than one.

Oliver nods, and he picks up his right leg and carefully moves it into the tub. Once his feet are steady under him again, he waits as John readjusts his grip, wrapping his arms firmly around Oliver’s chest. Oliver grabs onto Digg’s arms with one hand and grips the edge of the tub with the other.

Slowly, carefully, Oliver bends his legs to sit down, and John bends down with him. He uses all of his considerable upper body strength to bear Oliver’s weight as he lowers himself into the tub. Oliver doesn’t stumble once.

Finally, he sits down, sighing with relief as the water takes the pressure off his limbs, making him feel nearly weightless. Diggle lets go of him and stands, shaking the sleeves of his jacket gently in a feeble attempt to dry them. Oliver looks at him carefully.

“It’s fine, this jacket could use a good wash anyway,” John jokes with a smile, and he’s rewarded with a small smile in return. He pats Oliver gently on the shoulder before turning back to Felicity.

“I’ll leave you two alone. I’m gonna call Dr. Schwartz.”

He starts for the door, but before he can walk past her, Felicity whispers a quiet, “thank you.”

John smiles at her. Then he closes the distance between them and pulls her into a tight hug. She holds him close, wrapping her arms around him gratefully. Before he pulls away, he bends down and kisses the top of her head, whispering softly into her hair.

“He’ll come back to us, Felicity. I know he will.”

Her breath hitches in her chest, and she nods against him. She squeezes him tightly, taking as much strength from him and his words as she can.

Then he pulls away, squeezing her shoulders tightly before leaving the room.

Felicity turns her gaze back to Oliver, who’s sitting quietly in the tub watching her.

“Come on, honey. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

_…tbc_ _…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBH, I had a VERY hard time writing those four words. I literally had to steel myself before I could even type them, and I shuddered after I had, but the scene got easier to write once I did. It felt important to touch on this - however briefly - because given what Felicity’s seen of his physical (and especially mental) state, it made sense for her to suspect that they’d hurt him this way. But everything’s good on that front, I promise.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. As always, reviews feed my soul.


	3. The One I Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bath, some alone time, and a visit from the doctor. Felicity attempts to find hope and courage in the face of Oliver’s distress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks to everyone who's left comments and kudos so far, and thank you so much for your continued patience. I'm not giving up on this, I promise. :) Please enjoy this next chapter.

**< \--Chapter Two: The One I Need-->**

Felicity takes off her jacket and drops it carelessly to the floor. Then she pulls open a drawer under the sink and takes out an old, beat up washcloth and two dry towels. She hangs the larger one off the towel bar for later, then folds the smaller one up and puts it against the rim of the tub behind Oliver’s head. She kneels on the floor beside the bathtub and urges Oliver to lie back, resting his head on the towel. Then she soaps up the washcloth and gets to work.

Felicity washes Oliver as carefully and as gently as she can. She cleans layers of dirt and sweat and dried skin and old blood off of him. She wipes carefully at his wounds, applying more soap when necessary, and the water quickly turns from clear to light brown. Oliver watches her quietly as she washes him, wincing slightly when she touches parts of him that are sore, and she makes a mental note of all of them so she can tell the doctor later.

When she’s done with his front, she holds out her hands and helps him sit up. As he leans forward, she washes his back, starting from the bottom and working her way up. She rubs firmly at his shoulders and neck, hoping to relieve some of the tension she finds there. When Oliver sighs quietly, muscles visibly relaxing under her touch, she knows she’s done all right.

When she’s done with his back, she kisses the spot on his left shoulder where the dragon tattoo used to be. It’s a favorite spot of hers to kiss. She’s done it so many times she’s lost count: on the couch after a long day of work, in bed on a lazy Sunday morning, or on those glorious occasions where she’s ended up in the shower with him. She’s also done it on other nights quite similar to this one: nights when Oliver’s come home from fighting crime too bruised and sore to sleep. She’s bathed him just like this before, and every time she’s ended her ministrations with a gentle kiss to his shoulder.

But when she does it this time, he does something he’s never done before.

He stiffens.

“FeLIcity?”

He doesn’t sound scared or upset; there’s a questioning tone in his voice, and for a second she thinks that maybe this tender, familiar act has sparked some memory in him.

But then he just turns to her and smiles, and the moment passes. Her heart sinks with disappointment, but then he’s saying her name again.

“ _FeLIcity.”_

She smiles, still in awe of the fact that she can tell exactly what he’s saying without him having to say it.

“You’re welcome,” she says in return, and she reaches for the shampoo. She starts by washing his long hair, then moves on to his messy beard. She has no idea when he’ll allow her to cut either of them, but for now she just wants them to be clean.

When she’s finally done, she looks at him quietly and feels a tiny bit of weight fall off her shoulders. He’s still too thin and too bruised and too cut up, but without the layers of grime and dead skin and old blood, he already looks healthier.

She was hoping to let him sit in the bath a little while longer, but the water’s already cold and far too dirty. She reaches into the tub and pulls the drain to let the filthy water out.

“Wait here while I go get John to help you out of the tub,” she tells him, but when she moves to stand he grabs her arm and shakes his head.

“Can you get out without him?” she asks softly, and Oliver nods, pulling gently on her arm.

“Do you need me to help you?”

He nods again, and she smiles at him hopefully as she grips his forearms tightly. He grips hers back and she helps him sit up straight. Then he grabs the edge of the tub and pushes himself up, and with her help he manages to get to his feet. He’s steadier than he was before, and she grabs the towel from the rack and carefully dries him off. When she’s done, she ties the towel around his waist and helps him out of the tub. He’s still limping, but with his arm thrown over her shoulder they make it back to the bedroom without issue. She unwraps the towel from his waist.

“Sit down and dry your hair while I find you some clothes to wear,” she tells him, and Oliver nods.

As she digs through the bottom drawer of her dresser, she’s grateful that she thought to bring a few of his clothes and things to the loft in his absence, wanting him to have something comforting to come home to. She finally finds a pair of drawstring sweats and one of his tighter T-shirts – the ones he used to wear when he wanted to exercise and drive her crazy at the same time.

When she turns back to the bed, she finds that Oliver’s done drying his hair, and the sight of it sticking out wildly in every direction makes her laugh. The sound seems foreign to her ears, but she doesn’t dwell on it. Instead, she closes the distance between them and ruffles his hair affectionately, trying to put it in some semblance of order. She fails miserably, and when she laughs again, Oliver frowns.

“I’ve never seen your hair this long, Oliver. Not outside of pictures, anyway,” she adds, thinking about that photo on his father’s old desk all those years ago. “But we’ll worry about that later. For now, let’s see if we can get these pants on you, okay?”

Oliver nods, and she helps him stand up. But when she holds out the pants to him, he walks past her. Felicity frowns, turning to watch him as he limps toward the half open closet.

“Oliver?” she asks quietly, but he ignores her. As he moves to pull open the closet door she sees what's caught his eye, and she realizes what he’s doing, but she’s too late to stop him.

“Oliver, wait-”

He pulls open the door and stares at his reflection in the mirror that hangs on the inside of it. From behind him, she watches his whole body tense as he gets a good look at himself for what (she suspects) is the first time since he’d been captured.

She sets the pants down on the bed and follows after him. She can only imagine what he’s seeing right now; she’s been looking at him all night and she’s _still_ not used to it. When she reaches his side, she looks at his reflection with him. From his wide, confused eyes, she knows he barely recognizes himself. He stiffens beside her, gasping quietly as tears form in the corners of his eyes, and she can see that he’s shaking.

“Oh, honey.”

She reaches out and grabs his right hand, squeezing it tightly. He squeezes back, taking a shuddering breath as he stares at his reflection. He lets go of her hand so he can run it through his hair, then moves it down his face and into his beard. He runs his fingers through it, trying to straighten it, but then he gives up. He runs his hand down his chest and over his prominent ribs, biting his lower lip between his teeth as he presses his hand to his stomach. He starts breathing faster, and she reaches out and pulls his hand away, gripping it tightly. She steps in closer to him, brushing her arm against his, and she can practically feel his heart pounding under her own skin.

“It’s okay, Oliver. I know it looks bad, but it’s going to be okay. We’re going to make you better.”

“ _Felicity….”_

Tears fall silently down his cheeks once more, and she can’t bear to see him like this.

“Come on, baby. Let’s get you dressed.”

She tugs on his hand, urging him away, and eventually he pulls his gaze away from his reflection. He turns to her, still holding her hand, and he squeezes it. She smiles, reaching up with her free hand to brush the tears from his cheeks.

“You’re okay, sweetie. You’re okay. You’re alive, and you’re whole, and you’re _home_. We’ll get you all better soon. For now, let’s put this away.”

She lets go of his hand and steps around him, closing the closet door firmly. Then she grabs his hand again and pulls him back to the bed. He follows her silently. When they reach the bed, Felicity picks up the sweatpants and holds them out toward him.

And he lets her dress him.

He places his hands on her shoulders for balance as she pulls the pants carefully up his body, positioning the band at his hips. She pulls the drawstring tight enough to fit his thin waist and ties it closed. The pants bag around his legs, swallowing him up. When she pulls the shirt on over his head, carefully maneuvering his broken wrist through the sleeve, she finds it to be even baggier. When she’s done, he looks like a little boy trying to wear his older brother’s clothes, and her heart aches in her chest, but she doesn’t let herself cry.

_Not yet, not yet._

She tells Oliver to sit on the edge of the bed as she takes a brush off her end table, and she’s just started combing the tangles out of his hair when Diggle knocks quietly outside the door and lets himself in.

“I called Dr. Schwartz,” he says. “She promised to get here within the hour. She said she’d bring as many supplies as she could from the hospital.”

Felicity smiles, her heart lightening a bit in her chest.

“Thank you, John.”

“You’re welcome,” he responds quietly, stepping farther into the room. She finishes untangling Oliver’s hair and starts in on his beard. She runs the brush through it carefully, trying not to tug too hard.

“Do you want to head home?” she asks. If she’s honest with herself, she’s not ready for him to leave, but she also doesn’t want him to feel like he needs to stay.

But then Diggle says “no,” and Felicity breathes out a sigh of relief that she realizes he can hear. John puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes it, and Felicity stops brushing, reaching up to grip his hand like she has so many times tonight; seeking both comfort and strength.

“I’m fine, Felicity. Really.”

She nods, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

“I could use a shower, though,” he continues. “…and I think you need one, too.”

“John-”

“It’s okay,” he assures her, squeezing her shoulder again. “I think a shower would do you good. I can stay with Oliver while you wash up. Then we’ll switch.”

It’s not just a shower he’s offering her, and they both know it. It’s a chance to get away; a chance to be alone. She doesn’t want to leave Oliver, but at the same time….

“Okay,” she responds. “Okay.”

She’s been holding it together all night for Oliver’s sake; she’s stayed strong for him. But now, faced with the prospect of being able to let go, everything hits her all at once. The physical and emotional pain so strong she can feel the ache deep in her bones. The utter exhaustion suffusing every cell in her body. The anger and the fear and the hurt she’s been hiding from Oliver all night. It all rolls over her like a tidal wave, threatening to pull her under and drown her. She stands quickly from the bed, suddenly desperate to be alone.

“I’ll be out in ten minutes,” she tells him, but her voice is shaking and she’s not sure how much longer she can keep from falling apart.

“ _Go_ ,” John tells her. “Take all the time you need. Oliver and I will be fine. Right, Oliver?”

Felicity turns back to Oliver, waiting on his reaction. He looks at her carefully, and she wills herself to look okay when inside she is everything but.

Finally, Oliver nods.

“Felicity,” he says, and that’s all she needs. She bends down and kisses the top of his head.

“I’ll be back soon, honey. I just need to take a quick shower and clean up.”

And with that she turns her back on him and heads to the bathroom.

She closes the door behind her and leans back against it, breathing heavily. She’s hit hard with an overwhelming need to get in the shower _right now,_ and she turns on the water and starts to undress. She realizes her hands are shaking when she has trouble untying her boots, and in the end she tears them off and throws them to the floor by her previously discarded jacket. She yanks off her pants and underwear and tosses them on top of her boots, and her heart’s pounding furiously in her chest now. She takes off her shirt and bra, adding them to the pile, and she’s panting, gasping for air. She rips her hair out of its ponytail, letting it fall to her shoulders….

And that’s when she finally sees the blood.

It’s all over her hands, all over her upper arms, and when she looks down she finds some on her neck and chest, too. Her hands should be clean, though – she just bathed Oliver, after all – so that must mean….

She glances over at the pile of clothes on the floor, and she grabs her jacket out from the bottom of the pile. There’s blood on the collar and down the front, blood on the sleeves and on the cuffs. It’s on her T-shirt, too, and there’s even some on the legs of her pants.

“Oh, god,” Felicity gasps, and she makes it to the toilet just in time.

She pukes until there’s nothing left, and when she’s done, she falls back against the wall. She still feels like she’s heaving though, and that’s when she realizes that she’s hyperventilating.

She goes through the breathing exercises that Oliver taught her. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Slow and steady. Three seconds in, three seconds out. Over and over. She repeats the process with five second intervals. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Slow and steady. Five seconds in, five seconds out. Then she does it for seven seconds.

Finally, the band around her chest loosens enough that she feels like she can breathe again. She stands, her legs shaking underneath her, and she stumbles into the shower.

The hot water hits her cold skin and she shivers. She knows the water is too hot because it stings, but she can’t bring herself to care…because as the water hits her skin, Oliver’s blood runs off her body and into the shower, and finally, _finally_ , she allows herself to cry.

She cries for the man who sits on her bed barely thirty feet away: tortured, starved, bleeding...and broken. She cries for the man she loves; for what those monsters have done to him. She cries for the man she’s lost; the man she’s not sure will ever be the same again.

She cries for herself. She cries for John and Thea and Quentin and the team and everyone else who loves him.

She cries until her knees hit the floor, and as she hugs her legs to her chest, she wishes desperately that Oliver would walk through the door. That he would climb in behind her and wrap his arms around her and pull her close and tell her everything’s going to be okay.

But he won’t – he _can’t_ ….

And he might never be able to again.

And so Felicity sits alone on the floor of her shower and cries.

* * *

 

She’s not sure how long she cries, but eventually, the tears stop. She stands on shaky legs and cleans herself mechanically. She washes and conditions her hair, then cleans her body. As she scrubs the dried blood off her skin, she wants to cry again, but she has no more tears to shed. When she’s finally done, the water’s gone cold, and Felicity shivers as she turns off the shower and steps out of the tub.

She grabs her bathrobe and wraps it around herself, snugging up tight in its warmth. She runs a towel through her hair, her gaze landing on her pile of clothes on the floor.

It’s all going in the trash tomorrow.

When she steps out of the bathroom, she finds Oliver sitting back against the headboard, staring quietly out the window at the pre-dawn skyline. John sits at the foot of the bed, watching him silently. He doesn’t even realize she’s come out of the shower until she speaks.

“Your turn,” she tells him quietly, and he jumps slightly at the sudden break in the silence.

“Yeah, okay,” Diggle whispers, looking at her thoughtfully. Her tears have long since washed away, but she’s sure he suspects that she’s been crying. “I’ll use the other shower, give you two some privacy.”

“Okay,” she agrees with a nod, and Digg stands from the bed and heads out of the room, squeezing her shoulder tightly as walks past her.

Once he’s gone, Felicity sighs and moves to her dresser for clothes. She wants nothing more than to throw on her pajamas and crawl into bed, but the doctor’s still on her way, so she pulls out some underclothes, a pair of sweatpants, and a tank top. She turns back to find Oliver still staring silently out the window.

She gets dressed slowly, eyes never leaving him. She wonders what he’s thinking about. Is he remembering what happened to him over those two months of torture? Is he thinking about the nights he’s spent out in the darkness of Star City, saving lives and helping people?

Is he thinking about _her_? About the last night they spent together before he was taken – right from this very bed?

_“I’ve missed you, Felicity. God, I’ve missed you so much.”_

_“Me, too. Me, too, Oliver. Oh, god.”_

_“I love you.”_

_“I love you, too. I…I don’t want to lose you again, Oliver. Not ever.”_

_“I’m here, I’m right here, baby. I’m not going anywhere, not ever.”_

_“Oliver.”_

_“Felicity.”_

Felicity finishes getting dressed, then grabs her brush off the end table. Oliver doesn’t stir.

They’d made love three times that night, each time more intense than the last. They’d both cried, more than once: tears of sadness and of regret, but also tears of love, and a hope for the future.

Neither of them had expected that future to be ripped away from them so soon.

_She’d woken to the feel of rough, unfamiliar hands on her body, grabbing her shoulders and yanking her out of the warm bed. She’d felt strong arms wrap around her naked body, pulling her back hard against a chest wrapped in Kevlar. She’d struggled, of course, but she was no match for her captor._

_And Oliver…._

_Oliver had screamed for her, over and over. He’d-_

Felicity jumps in surprise as the sound of the doorbell jerks her from her thoughts. Oliver pulls his gaze from the window, staring at her with wide, confused eyes.

_“Felicity?”_

She smiles at him.

“It’s okay, honey. Someone’s here to help you.”

* * *

 

Oliver doesn’t remember Dr. Schwartz, and it takes Felicity a good ten minutes of gentle cajoling, soothing touches, and a dozen promises to convince him to let the doctor touch him.

Dr. Schwartz is kind and careful, speaking to Oliver in soft tones, and she’s exceedingly patient.

But Oliver’s scared.

He yells and cries and whimpers Felicity’s name more times than she can count as the doctor works. Felicity sits by his side the entire time and she helps him through it. She holds his hand as the doctor stitches up his deep wounds, murmuring soothingly to him the entire time. She runs a hand through his hair, rubbing gently at his scalp like she knows he likes. She wipes sweat off his forehead with a cool cloth, and she brushes away tears of pain and frustration with her fingertips.

She whispers words of encouragement to him the entire time.

_You’re doing so well, honey._

_I’m so proud of you, my love._

_My brave hero. You’re so strong, Oliver._

_I love you._

When Dr. Schwartz has finished stitching up all the cuts on his torso, she moves to stitch the gash on his leg. Oliver screams Felicity’s name, jerking away from the doctor and landing on his hurt wrist in the process. As Oliver whimpers in pain, Felicity does her best to calm him. That’s when Dr. Schwartz suggests a morphine drip to keep him calm. Felicity agrees. But Oliver flat out refuses to let the doctor put a needle in his arm to insert the IV, screaming “FELICITY!” at the top of his lungs.

In the end, Felicity gets Oliver to agree by having John do it instead. She scoots up to the head of the bed and helps Oliver lie back down, resting his head carefully in her lap. Diggle takes her place on the edge of the bed, and Dr. Schwartz moves to stand next to him, watching with a hint of pride as he works.

“You’ve done this before?” she asks.

“I’ve stuck my fair share of needles in his arm,” John admits, pushing the needle in carefully. “And other places.”

Oliver whimpers, flinching slightly, and Felicity whispers to him gently as John works. She adjusts Oliver’s head where it rests in her lap, running her hand through his hair. As Oliver looks away, eyes closed in an attempt to keep himself calm, Felicity uses his distraction to carefully lift up the hair covering the back of his neck.

“Dr. Schwartz?” she whispers. The doctor looks at her questioningly, and Felicity tilts her head down to indicate the spot she’s pointing to with one finger: the needle marks on the back of Oliver’s neck. Dr. Schwartz leans in slowly, and when she reaches out to touch him, Felicity shakes her head. Dr. Schwartz gets the hint, and she gazes down at the spot quietly. Her eyes widen slightly, and Felicity’s not sure what it means, but she won’t ask about it now; not with the way Oliver reacted earlier. She’ll wait until she has a moment to talk to the doctor alone.

As they give the morphine drip a few minutes to start working, Dr. Schwartz checks Oliver over with a very expensive looking portable X-ray machine.

Felicity was right about the broken wrist and knee, though luckily his ankle is only sprained and his ribs are only bruised, not broken. The doctor was able to bring a splint for his wrist, but she doesn’t have the right materials to treat either his knee or his ankle. Both will have to wait until she returns the following night.

In addition to stitching his wounds and checking him for broken bones, the doctor suggests an IV drip to treat the malnutrition. She lets Diggle insert the IV the same as he did with the morphine, hanging the bag from the stand he’d fetched from the car earlier. John also draws blood from Oliver so Dr. Schwartz can run tests when she gets back to the hospital.

In the end – after nearly three hours of work, and despite a healthy dose of morphine – Oliver’s a bundle of tense muscles and nervous energy. A combination of stitching and poking and prodding by a stranger has left him tired and distraught.

_“Felicity,”_ he whimpers as Digg hands the syringe of blood off to Dr. Schwartz.

“I know, baby. I know. It’s okay, we’re almost done.”

“We _are_ done, Oliver,” Dr. Schwartz assures him as she carefully packs the vial of blood away. “That’s all I can do for tonight. You did a great job.”

“Hear that, honey? You did great,” Felicity assures him, running her fingers softly through his hair.

Oliver whines, burying his face against her leg, and Felicity sighs. She bends down and kisses the side of his head, wiping the sweat from his brow with a cool cloth.

“You did _great_ ,” she tells him again, and Oliver sighs as she runs her fingers through his hair once more.

_“FeLIcity,”_ he mumbles, and she watches with wonder as his breathing evens out and he finally falls asleep.

She kisses him on the forehead again, carefully lifting his head out of her lap and gently scooting out from under him. She rests his head back on a pillow, and Oliver sighs in his sleep, burrowing his face into the soft fabric.

“I can’t thank you enough, Dr. Schwartz.”

“Please, call me Mary. After everything that’s happened I think we’re past formalities.”

Felicity nods, and she stands to help Mary pack up her things. Diggle helps, too, offering to bring everything back out to her car. The doctor accepts gratefully.

“Let’s talk outside so he can rest,” Mary suggests, and Felicity follows her out of the room. They stand just outside the doorway, close enough that Felicity can easily reach Oliver if he needs her.

Mary hands her a small bag and a cooler.

“I think he should stay on IV drips for a while; long enough for him to get his strength back. Solid foods might be hard on his stomach if he hasn’t eaten in a long time.”

The thought of those bastards starving Oliver fills Felicity with a quiet rage, and she bites her lower lip in an attempt to tamp down her anger. She nods in agreement, glancing into the cooler to find the IV bags Mary was talking about before placing it on the floor.

“I’m giving you more needle and thread in case he pulls his stitches,” Mary continues, pointing at the bag still in her hands, and Felicity looks inside. "There’s bandages, gauze, and antibiotic cream in there, too. You’ll also find a bottle of oxycodone pills to help with the pain – just make sure he takes the proper dosage – and a tube of burn cream to treat his lower back.”

Felicity nods again, digging around in the bag to make sure it’s all there. She stumbles across a bottle of pills she doesn’t recognize and she pulls it out.

“What are these?” she asks curiously.

“Sleeping pills. He’s going to need time to heal, which means plenty of rest. Considering his…emotional state, I don’t think sleep is going to come easy to him.”

Felicity bites her lower lip.

“It never has,” she admits.

Mary smiles sympathetically.

“Those needle marks on the back of his neck….”

Felicity’s heart clenches painfully in her chest. “I don’t know what they’re from. He wouldn’t talk to me about it. All I know is that they did it over and over and that it…that it hurt him.”

Mary nods. “I can’t know for sure if they injected him with anything – or what it might be if they did – without running a few blood tests. Even then, we may not get any answers. If they did inject him, and the drugs are out of his system now, then they may not leave a trace. Without knowing what they injected him with, we also don’t know what tests to run. And if the drugs are something new….”

She trails off, but Felicity knows what she wants to say; what she _can’t_ say. If they were testing new drugs on Oliver, they may never be able to figure out exactly what they did to him, or how they can help him heal from the damage.

“If I had to guess,” Mary continues, “I’d say they injected him with psychotropics – drugs meant to mess with his mind, not necessarily his body. It could help explain the emotional and mental trauma.”

Felicity nods, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

“I’ve never seen anything affect him like this. Near death experiences, endless torture, PTSD…everything he’s faced, he’s always come out on top. And he was _getting better._ He was learning to let people in, and having fewer nightmares, and we had just gotten back together, and now….”

She pauses, gripping the bottle of pills tightly in one hand and hugging the doctor’s bag closer to her chest in a useless attempt to soothe herself.

“Oliver doesn’t deserve this. He’s a good man. He’s a _hero._ ”

Mary nods, wordlessly reaching out and placing a gentle hand on Felicity’s shoulder.

“He’s been through so much,” Felicity whispers, her voice trembling. “ _So much_ …and now….”

She gazes back at Oliver’s sleeping form. She notes the way he twitches slightly in his sleep. The way he clutches tightly at the pillow with his good hand…. The quiet groan that escapes him.

She turns back to Mary, and she lets the tears fall.

“It’s like they _broke him_ …and I don’t know how to fix him.”

Mary looks at her sadly, rubbing her shoulder gently.

“I’m not a psychiatrist, Felicity, and considering who he is…what he’s been through…I don’t know if I can recommend anyone to help him cope with what’s happened.”

Felicity shakes her head, gasping quietly as she bites back the rest of her tears.

“I might know someone who can help,” she says, thinking of Lyla’s varied contacts at ARGUS.

Mary smiles at her, and as she lets go of her shoulder, Felicity’s surprised to find tears in the other woman’s eyes. “Like I said, I’m no psychiatrist, but I think…I think that if anyone can help him, it’s _you_.”

Felicity stares at her in confusion, pulling the bag tighter against her chest.

“How do you know that?” she asks carefully. “You don’t even know me.”

“You’re right, Felicity. I don’t. But I’ve seen the way you are with him, and the way he clings to you. He _needs_ you. The fact that your name is the only thing he can say might seem scary, but…I also think it means you’re the only one who can get through to him.”

Felicity ponders the woman’s words…and eventually, she nods. She stops fighting her tears, and she lets them fall silently down her face this time.

“Thank you,” she whispers, placing the pills back in the bag so she can wipe at her eyes. “Thank you for everything. If there’s…if there’s any way I can repay you-”

“There’s no need,” Mary assures her, gazing past her to where Oliver sleeps. “After everything he’s done for this city – not just as The Green Arrow, but as Oliver Queen – I owed him one.”

Felicity nods, glancing over her shoulder to look at Oliver, too. Her gaze lands on the stand next to the bed holding his IV, and an idea comes to her.

“Actually, there _is_ something I can do to repay you. All this stuff you took from the hospital…I’m guessing they won’t be too happy to find out it’s missing?”

Mary flinches. “No, they won’t. It’ll take them a few days to realize anything’s gone, but it doesn’t matter. I’m willing to take my chances.”

“You won’t have to,” Felicity assures her. “Trust me. When I’m done, there won’t be any evidence you ever took anything.”

Mary laughs lightly. “You are an interesting woman, Ms. Smoak. Oliver’s lucky to have you.”

Felicity blushes slightly at the compliment, then shakes her head. “I’ve always thought it was the other way around, actually.”

Felicity shakes Dr. Schwartz’s hand, thanking her once again for everything she’s done. Mary nods graciously, assuring her that she was glad to help, and that she won’t breathe a word to anyone about Oliver’s return. She takes a piece of paper out of her purse, scribbling down a few instructions for handling the IV bags, as well as her own personal cell number in case Felicity has any questions. She promises she will come back later that night with more supplies and blood test results. Until then, she urges Felicity to keep Oliver comfortable and encourage him to rest.

Felicity promises to do her best…because deep down she knows that no matter how tired Oliver is right now, there’s no way he’ll stay asleep for long.

It’s going to be a very long day.

_…tbc…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed the bath scene, you might like a story I wrote about a year ago called "Nothing Hurts." I thought about it a lot while writing this scene (in my mind they take place in the same universe). Similar scenario but more fleshed out.
> 
> I have no idea what the layout of the loft is like, but I’m just assuming that the other bedroom has a shower, too. A place that expensive has to have more than one shower, right? Also, Doctor Schwartz is indeed the same doctor from 4x18/4x19. I just took some liberties with her first name.
> 
> Hope everyone’s still enjoying this. As always, reviews feed my soul.


	4. Promises to Keep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went back to the prologue and made a tiny edit about Felicity’s place of work. I wrote that chapter ages ago - before I really had time to think about what Felicity’s job should be - and when I got to this chapter I decided I needed to change it. Instead of working at Palmer Tech, Felicity has her own job at her own company, Smoak Technologies. I’m not sure how much I’ll end up mentioning her job, but having her own company will work out a lot better for the purposes of this story. Plus come on, we all want it to happen anyway.

**_< \--Chapter Three: Promises to Keep-->_ **

Once Mary has gone, Felicity heads downstairs to wait for Diggle to come back from packing up the doctor’s car. She puts the IV bags Mary gave her away in the fridge. She doesn’t have a whole lot to eat herself, but it doesn’t matter much to her right now; food is the farthest thing from her mind. She does, however, pour herself a glass of water. She sits down at the kitchen island just as John lets himself in.

“How is he?” John asks, closing the door quietly behind him.

“Sleeping,” Felicity says simply, taking a sip of her water. “He seems….” She trails off, not sure what she wants to say.

“Yeah,” Digg agrees, walking toward where she’s seated. He sits on the chair next to her, gazing at her quietly. She can practically hear the gears turning in his head, and she takes a few more sips of water before putting the glass down on the counter. It does nothing to soothe the soreness suffusing her entire body, but she knows she needs it.

“Felicity.”

John lays his right hand on top of her left, squeezing it gently, and tears rise in her eyes against her will. She forces herself to look up at her friend.

“I know a thing or two about torture,” Diggle says carefully. “When Andy tortured me….”

He pauses for a moment, gazing down at their entwined hands. Felicity squeezes his hand firmly, and it seems to give him courage.

“I know that when things get bad, you have to find something to fight for; something to hold onto. For me, it was my family: Lyla and Sara. For Oliver…it was you.”

She can already tell where he’s going with this, and Felicity smiles despite herself.

“Oliver held onto the thought of you when things got darkest. That’s why he remembers you most of all. You were there with him the whole time. You kept him going. You helped him hold on.”

“John-”

“You gave him _hope,_ Felicity. They didn’t destroy him completely; they never could. Part of him is still there, buried deep down where they could never get to him. You helped him hold on…which means you’re the only one who can reach him.”

Felicity nods, not bothering to fight the tears that stream down her cheeks.

“Oliver’s clearly been through a lot, but he’s not gone; not entirely. There’s still hope,” he says softly, squeezing her hand tightly. “If anyone can bring him back to us…it’s _you_.”

Felicity laughs softly, smiling through her tears as she leans in and rests her head gently on Diggle’s shoulder. Digg lays his cheek against the top of her head and lets go of her hand, but only so he can wrap his arm around her and pull her tight against his side.

“Mary said the same thing before she left,” Felicity tells him.

“Anyone with eyes can see how much you two mean to each other, Felicity,” John responds, rubbing her arm gently.

“Yeah,” Felicity agrees, her voice trembling slightly.

And it’s there, sitting quietly in her kitchen with Diggle’s arm wrapped around her, that Felicity vows to be strong for Oliver no matter what. Oliver may need her…but she needs him, too. No matter how broken he might be, no matter how hopeless things may seem, Felicity will do everything in her power to save the man she loves. She _can_ get him back…and she _will_.

She can’t focus on finding out who did this to him, or seeking revenge – no matter how much she may want to. The only thing that matters is getting her Oliver back.

The only thing that matters is saving him.

She cannot give up. She has to fight for him, just like he’s always fought for her.

She can’t let him see her break. She has to be strong – for him, for _both of them_ – because he can’t anymore.

She can’t let herself cry. She has to hold onto hope, just like Oliver did for those eight weeks of Hell.

But for now….

For now, she gives into her tears.

She wraps her arms around John, buries her face against his chest, and cries quietly. John hugs her in return, rubbing her back soothingly as he rests his cheek on top of her head.

When her hair grows wet from his silent tears, she hugs him tighter and doesn’t say a word.

Five minutes later, John leaves, with the promise that he’s only a phone call away if she needs him.

Once he’s gone, Felicity climbs the stairs back to her room.

Back to her always, her everything, her hero.

Back to Oliver.

She gazes at him quietly from the doorway, listening to the sound of his light snoring and watching his chest rise and fall gently as he sleeps.

The sight of it soothes her more than anything has in 59 days.

Felicity climbs onto the bed beside Oliver, lying down on what used to be his side but which is, for the moment, hers. She checks briefly to make sure the IV hasn’t slipped out of his right arm while he was sleeping. Satisfied, she rests her head next to his on the pillow, carefully avoiding his left wrist, and slings her arm over his waist. He’s so thin she can wrap her arm around him easily, but she refuses to dwell on it. Instead, she kisses his cheek tenderly and closes her eyes.

She hears a soft whisper of her name, and it’s the last thing she thinks about before she falls into a deep sleep.

* * *

Oliver doesn’t sleep for more than an hour before he’s crying out for her.

Felicity jerks awake to the shout of her name, and she gasps as she sits up in bed, breathing heavily as she takes in the sight of Oliver thrashing on the bed next to her.

“Oliver, honey, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”

Oliver whines in his sleep. He reaches out to scratch at his left wrist – a move he’s clearly gotten used to making when he’s stressed – and she grabs his right arm before she can stop to think.

Oliver’s eyes fly open and he screams, jerking away from her so hard he nearly falls off the bed.

“It’s okay, sweetie, it’s okay,” she assures him. “It’s just me.”

She kneels up on the bed, leaning over him slightly so he can see her face, hands out in front of her in a non-threatening gesture. Slowly, she stretches out a hand to touch him again, and he flinches, turning his head away from her and closing his eyes.

“Baby, it’s me. It’s Felicity,” she tries again, but it’s like he can’t hear her.

At a loss, she does the first thing that pops into her head: she places a palm against his chest, right over his heart.

It’s something she used to do all the time with him. It was her way of reassuring herself that he was alive and well; of letting him know that she was there for him.

And after all this time, it still does the trick.

Oliver gasps at her touch, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he turns to look at her, tears drying on his face.

_“Felicity?"_

She smiles, rubbing her hand soothingly over his chest, and she feels the quick, racing beat of his heart begin to slow down.

“That’s right, honey. It’s me. You’re home now, remember? Safe and sound.”

Oliver stares at her quietly, his heart rate slowly returning to normal.

Then he does something she wasn’t expecting; something that makes her own heart start racing.

He reaches out to her with his right hand, gently caressing her cheek with his fingers.

“Felicity?”

There’s a spark of recognition in his eyes, like he’s close to remembering something really important. She holds her breath - terrified of breaking the spell - and presses her hand harder against his chest, desperately hoping she can bring the memory back to him.

But then she blinks, and the moment has passed.

Oliver drops his hand, letting it fall to the mattress beside him, and he whimpers, turning his face away from her once more.

“Oh, Oliver,” Felicity sighs, and she moves her hand off of his chest and up to his face instead, stroking the side of his forehead. “It was just a dream, nothing more. You’re safe here.”

Carefully, she lifts his left arm, resting his injured hand on his chest so she can scoot in closer. She presses one leg against his side, then gently lifts his head and rests it on her knee.

“Go back to sleep, my love,” she whispers soothingly, running her hands through his hair and rubbing firmly at his scalp like she knows he likes. “I’m right here.”

But he doesn’t go back to sleep.

Instead he cries….

And so Felicity sits back against the headboard, settles his upper body into her lap, and holds him tight as his tears soak her stomach.

* * *

She’s not sure what to do for him once he’s done crying. She has no idea how to help him. All she can do is hold onto him tightly and tell him that he’s safe.

After half an hour, he falls asleep, but it’s not more than ten minutes before he jerks awake again, screaming her name. Felicity bites back a sob and strokes his forehead soothingly.

She wants to give him the sleeping pills that the doctor gave her, but she’s not sure how they’ll interact with the morphine in Oliver’s system. So she grabs her phone off the bedside table and calls the number Mary gave her. The doctor assures her that while the morphine drip will have run empty a few hours ago, she should remove the IV and wait three more hours before giving him the sleeping pills.

Felicity does as the doctor orders. She removes the needle from Oliver’s arm quickly, not giving herself the chance to think about it. She doesn’t gag or squirm, and she gives herself a mental pat on the back as she sits up straighter against the headboard. Carefully, she spreads her legs out to either side of Oliver’s body and pulls him back against her. Oliver scoots closer to her until his back is pressed up against her stomach. He rests his head against her chest and sighs.

“ _Felicity…._ ”

She wraps her arms around his thin waist and kisses the top of his head.

“I’m here, Oliver. I’m here.”

* * *

Felicity holds Oliver for a very long time. The steady thrum of his body warm and alive against hers soothes her, and she knows that it does the same for him….

...And yet he still can’t sleep.

She knows he’s tired. She can feel it in the way his body’s gone lax against hers; the way he moans as he readjusts his head against her chest. He’s trying desperately to fall asleep, but it’s like he can’t shut his brain off.

Felicity knows the feeling all too well.

After two hours of calming words and soothing touches, Oliver’s still wide awake, and Felicity’s sitting on pins and needles, her lower half long since fallen asleep underneath her.

She doesn’t know what to do for him.

And then Oliver starts to cry again…and an idea comes to her.

She starts singing.

 

_“Hey Jude, don’t make it bad._

_Take a sad song and make it better._

_Remember to let her into your heart,_

_Then you can start to make it better.”_

 

Oliver whines her name, but she keeps going.

 

_“Hey Jude, don't be afraid._

_You were made to go out and get her._

_The minute you let her under your skin,_

_Then you begin to make it better.”_

 

Oliver’s the only person Felicity’s ever sung for.

She hates singing in front of other people - she always has - but she can’t say “no” to Oliver

He’d first caught her singing “My Girl” in the shower one summer day during their trip around the world. She’d come out of the bathroom to find Oliver waiting for her, and he’d sung his own (admittedly terrible) rendition of the song back to her. He’d asked her to sing more often, insisting that her voice was as beautiful as she was, and she’s obliged him numerous times since then.

“My Girl” became their song that day. It’s the only song he’s ever sung to her, and (aside from one drunken night of karaoke with Diggle and Thea) he’s sung it only for her.

She’s sung many different songs for him, but she’s only sung “Hey Jude” to him once before.

The night Laurel died.

“Hey Jude” was what her mother used to sing to her when she was upset. It had always made her feel better. The night they lost Laurel, Felicity had found Oliver crying alone in the bunker. They weren’t together anymore, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be there for him as a friend.

And so she’d sat down next to him, wrapped her arms around him, and started singing.

 

_“And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain._

_Don't carry the world upon your shoulders._

_For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool,_

_By making his world a little colder.”_

 

Now, as Felicity continues to sing to him softly, she thinks back to that night in the bunker, and she hopes that her song can comfort him again.

Oliver whimpers against her, but as she keeps singing, his tears begin to slow.

She sings softly and carefully, one hand wrapped around his torso, the other running gently through his hair.

When she’s sung the whole thing, she starts over again.

…And her song does the trick.

Oliver sighs, snuggling his cheek against her breast, just like he has so many times before. It’s loving and intimate, and Felicity finds herself smiling as his breathing and heart rate even out.

And then, finally, the sound of her voice, the soothing press of her arms around his chest, and the steady thump of her heartbeat against his ear lull him back to sleep.

She stops singing and sits quietly, letting him sleep in her lap, as she waits for sleep to take her over, too.

Except it doesn’t…and eventually she realizes that it’s not going to. At least, not anytime soon.

She’s too wired to sleep now.

It’s also ten in the morning, and while she doesn’t have to answer to anyone right now (being her own boss has its advantages), there is one thing she has to do: the sooner, the better.

She needs to tell Thea that her brother is alive.

Felicity had brought the team back together in order to save Oliver - Wild Dog, Artemis, Ragman, Curtis, Diggle, Lyla, Lance, and herself - but she hadn’t told Thea. She hadn’t told her because she’d wanted to have Oliver home safe and sound before she’d told Thea anything. She hadn’t wanted to get her hopes up and risk dashing them again, because after everything Thea had been through, she didn’t deserve that, too. She _had_ tell Roy what they were doing, though, and Roy had promised that he wouldn’t tell Thea what was going on.

Right now, Roy must be waiting anxiously for news.

So Felicity gingerly moves Oliver off of her lap and prepares to make one of the hardest phone calls of her life.

* * *

“Felicity? How’s Oliver? Is he okay?”

“He’s alive,” Felicity assures Roy quickly, not wanting her friend to panic. “Oliver’s…he’s alive.”

“Oh, thank god,” Roy whispers, letting out a long, deep sigh of relief.

Felicity bites her lower lip, not sure how to even begin to tell him anything more specific.

“Thea’s in the other room,” Roy tells her. “She’ll want to hear what’s happened. I’ll go get her.”

Felicity nods before remembering that Roy can’t see her.

“Put your phone on speaker,” she tells him. “There’s…there’s a lot I need to tell you guys.”

Her voice shakes against her will, and she can practically hear Roy’s feet squeak on his floor as he comes to a halt.

“Felicity? What’s wrong?”

She sighs, taking a deep breath to steel herself.

“Go get Thea. I’ll explain everything.”

* * *

Telling Thea that her brother is alive isn’t hard.

Telling Thea that she and the team went out to rescue him without telling her is a bit harder.

But telling Thea that she may not recognize her brother? That her brother may not recognize _her_?

That’s one of the hardest things Felicity’s ever had to do in her life.

Roy and Thea listen quietly as Felicity tells them everything: how they finally figured out where Oliver was, where they ended up finding him, how they brought him home and had Dr. Schwartz look over him.

Then she does her very best to explain Oliver’s condition to them. She needs to prepare them for the version of Oliver that they’ll find when they arrive.

Roy is silent while she talks, listening carefully to everything she says (and everything she _doesn’t_ say).

As for Thea? She takes it all in stride, and Felicity knows that she’s just grateful to hear that her brother’s alive.

Felicity explains the physical damage first. She explains the cuts over his scars, the bruises and the broken bones, the needle marks at the base of his neck…and the malnutrition.

“The Oliver we saved…he looks very different from the Oliver they took from us two months ago.”

“But he’s _alive_ ,” Thea insists. “He’s alive and he’s going to be okay. Right?”

Felicity bites her lower lip, fighting back tears. There’s so much hope in Thea’s voice, and Felicity hates herself for being the one who’ll have to dash it to pieces.

“There’s…there’s more, Thea.”

Felicity explains Oliver’s mental state as best she can: the fear and anxiety, the nightmares and his inability to sleep, the screaming and the crying.

And of course-

“He can’t…he can’t speak, Thea.”

“What…what do you mean he can’t speak?” Thea asks shakily.

Felicity takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“He won’t talk, Speedy. There’s only one word he can say anymore: my name.”

“I don’t understand,” Thea responds, and Felicity can hear a hint of trepidation in her voice now. Thea can’t wrap her head around this. She won’t be able to; not until she sees Oliver first hand.

“The only thing he can say is my name. ‘Felicity.’ Over and over again. He won’t say anything else. And there’s…there’s something else, too.”

And finally, Felicity explains the hardest thing of all: the memory loss…and his difficulty in knowing who he can trust.

“He may not…he may not recognize you guys. Either of you.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line. It feels like she’s just dropped a bomb on them, and she’s left praying that they’ve survived the impact.

“He has a hard time remembering things, and knowing who to trust. He doesn’t remember John.”

“But he remembers _you_.”

A sour taste fills Felicity’s mouth, and she hates the sense of guilt she feels at Thea’s words. It’s not her fault Oliver seems to trust her and no one else, but she feels bad about it nonetheless.

“He does.”

“So then there’s hope.”

Felicity can’t fight the tears anymore, and she lets them fall quietly as she marvels at Thea Queen’s strength.

“Of course there is, Thea. He’s…he’s been through a lot. But he’s alive, and…and we can help him. I know we can. I just…I just want you to be prepared.”

There’s silence on the other end of the phone once more. She can hear Roy muttering quietly to Thea, and it’s a good minute before she hears Roy speak to her again.

“We’re on our way, Felicity. We’ll be there in a few hours.”

“Good,” Felicity replies. “That’s…that’s good. We’ll be waiting for you when you get here.”

She’s just pulled the phone away from her ear to end the call when she hears Thea’s voice on the other end.

“Ollie would never forget me.”

Felicity’s heart twists painfully in her chest at the fierce determination and total certainty in the younger Queen’s voice. She’s not sure _how_ Oliver will react to seeing his sister, but she doesn’t have the heart to even try to contradict her.

“Oliver loves you, Thea. It’ll be okay.”

She’s not sure she believes it, but Thea does, and for now, that’s all that matters.

* * *

After talking with Thea and Roy, Felicity makes herself a cup of coffee and some food. She has no appetite, but she hasn’t eaten anything since dinner last night, and she needs to keep her strength up for Oliver’s sake.

She’s just finished a sandwich and started on her second cup of coffee when she hears Oliver screaming her name.

“FELICITY!”

She hurries upstairs as fast as she can, cursing herself for being stupid enough to leave him alone.

“I’m here, Oliver, I’m right here,” she assures him as she approaches the bed. He’s shoved himself up against the headboard, and she marvels yet again at just how small he looks now.

She reaches the side of the bed and lays a gentle hand on his right arm.

Oliver screams, jerking away from her, and she notices that he’s pulled his IV out.

“Come on, honey. Let me help you put this back in.”

Oliver shakes his head and pulls away from her.

“FELICITY!”

She stops, staring at his trembling form.

“Are you upset that I left you?”

Oliver nods his head vigorously, and Felicity sighs as she sits down on the edge of the bed next to him.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Oliver nods again, tears of frustration streaming silently down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry I left you, Oliver, but I was only downstairs. I just needed to make a phone call. Thea and Roy are both happy to hear that you’re okay. They’re on their way over right now.”

She stares at Oliver hard, but there’s no recognition in his eyes; only tears and pain.

“Your sister’s coming, Oliver. She’s excited to see you.”

Oliver bites his lower lip, whining softly. He doesn’t seem to know what she’s saying, and she hopes it’s just because he’s upset, not because he can’t remember his little sister.

“Oh, Oliver. I’m not going to leave you, not ever. Even if you can’t see me, I’ll always be close by. I promise.”

Felicity climbs up next to him on the bed, and he watches her quietly.

“Come here, baby. It’s okay.”

She holds out her arms, and without another sound he throws his arms around her and hugs her, burying his face against her chest.

_"Felicity…."_

“I know, honey. I know. It’s okay, my love. I’m right here.”

Oliver hugs her tight, sighing deeply, and for the first time since she rescued him he holds her close and doesn’t cry.

When she thinks he’s calmed down, she pulls away.

“Everything’s going to be okay, Oliver. But I need you to let me help you. Can you do that for me?”

Oliver nods, and Felicity sighs as she picks up the IV needle. He lets her put the needle back in his arm without complaint. As a matter of fact, inserting the IV gets more of a reaction from her than it does from him as Felicity chokes back her gag reflex, knowing that he needs this.

Once the IV is back in, she grabs a glass from the bathroom and fills it with water, handing it off to him with two sleeping pills.

“These are going to help you sleep, Oliver.”

Oliver’s eyes go wide with fear, and Felicity could kick herself.

“It’s all right,” she assures him quickly. “They’re not going to hurt you, honey. I promise. You need to rest so you can get better. The pills are going to help you with that.”

Oliver looks down at the pills in his hand, clearly still apprehensive.

“Remember what I said, Oliver? I’m going to be here with you the whole time. It’s going to be okay. Do you trust me?”

Oliver looks up at her slowly.

_“Fe-LI-ci-ty.”_

Felicity smiles warmly at him.

“I love you, too, Oliver. Please take the pills.”

He throws them back without hesitation this time, drinking about half of the water in one go. She asks him to finish the glass, knowing that the water will do him good. While the IV will keep him fed and hydrated until Mary can return with more IV bags that night, he’s still parched from the screaming and crying, and the water will help soothe his aches.

Once he’s downed the glass, she refills it in the bathroom sink and hands it back to him. He sips it slowly, and as Felicity watches him it hits her hard just how weird this entire situation is.

Between Oliver’s crying and his constant need for attention, it feels a lot like watching after a child (she used to babysit as a kid; she knows what it’s like). Beyond that, this behavior is so unlike Oliver; unlike anything she could ever imagine from him. Never in a million years could she have imagined them breaking Oliver quite like they have.

For as long as she’s known him, Oliver’s struggled with nightmares, anxiety, and social overstimulation, and PTSD has been a constant in his life since he returned to Star City.

But this? This is something she _never_ expected to see. The screaming and crying, the skittishness and fear, the loss of trust and his inability to speak; it all still seems unreal to her.

She feels like she’s handling it pretty well so far…but she has no idea how Thea’s going to react.

Her best guess?

Not good.

Oliver finishes his second glass of water and puts it on the endtable.

“That’s good, Oliver. Really good. I want you to try and get some sleep now, okay? Thea’s going to be here soon and I want you to be well rested when she gets here.”

Oliver nods, lying back on the bed and resting his head against the pillow, closing his eyes. Felicity smiles and bends down, pressing a gentle kiss against his forehead. Oliver sighs happily, snuggling further into the pillow, and Felicity’s heart lifts as she steps away.

She decides to stay in the room with Oliver while he sleeps. She doesn’t want him to wake up alone again; doesn’t want him freaking out when Thea gets here. She grabs her tablet from her bag on the floor, then climbs into the bed, settling back against the headboard on Oliver’s left side.

She tries to get some work done, but after twenty minutes she realizes she just can’t concentrate, so she reads a book instead: “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.” She’s read it a hundred times, and she knows it by heart. Reading the familiar words comforts her, and she thinks fondly on that summer she spent with Oliver, when she managed to convince him to read the series for himself. He only made it halfway through “Goblet of Fire” before they returned to Star City - where Green Arrow duties took up most of his time - and she’s been meaning to try and get him to finish the series.

That’ll have to wait now, she supposes. That and so many other things.

She makes it to the part where Hagrid busts down the door to the hut on the rock and tells Harry he’s a wizard before she drifts off to sleep.

The sound of the doorbell pulls her out of a deep sleep two hours later.

Felicity sighs, sitting up and stretching as she takes in the room around her. It’s a little after one in the afternoon, sunlight peeking in between the curtains.

She turns to Oliver and finds him staring at her quietly. His eyes are filled with confusion, but not fear, and it makes her hopeful.

“Thea and Roy are here, Oliver. They’ll be happy to see you.”

Oliver doesn’t say anything, continuing to stare at her questioningly.

Felicity closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and mentally prepares herself for what’s to come.

* * *

Thea looks better than Felicity’s seen her since Oliver was taken from them, and Felicity smiles happily as she throws her arms around the younger girl and pulls her into a hug.

“It’s great to see you, Thea,” Felicity sighs, squeezing her tight.

Thea laughs lightly against Felicity’s shoulder. “You, too, Felicity,” she responds, squeezing her just as tightly. Thea’s small frame is strong once more, her grip firm, and Felicity smiles wider as she pulls away from her.

“You look good,” Felicity tells her, gripping her upper arm playfully, and Thea smiles as she flexes, showing off her hard earned muscles.

“I’ve been working out again. Roy told me I needed a healthy way to channel my pain; something that would keep me active.”

“And I was right as usual.”

Felicity laughs as Roy approaches them, kissing Thea’s cheek quickly before pulling Felicity into a hug.

“And humble as always,” Thea says, and Felicity catches her rolling her eyes behind Roy’s back.

Felicity laughs, and she pulls away from Roy and takes a step back, staring quietly at her two friends. Roy moves to stand beside Thea, wrapping an arm around her waist, and Thea huddles close to him, taking comfort in his touch.

Felicity’s heart aches. She’s happy for them; Thea deserves all the happiness she can find, especially now. But she can’t help the jealousy she feels seeing the two of them together: healthy and whole and clearly in love.

She wonders if she can ever have that with Oliver again.

“Oliver’s….”

She trails off, not sure what she wants to say, and the mood in the room changes so drastically she can almost feel the air literally grow heavier.

“Is he upstairs?” Thea asks quietly, hugging her arms to her chest, and Roy pulls her closer, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

“Yeah,” Felicity answers. “I got him to sleep for a couple of hours, but he’s awake now. I told him you were coming. He….”

She pauses, unsure of how to prepare them for this.

“He scares easily,” she finally blurts out, choosing the direct approach. “We need to be calm and quiet. No sudden movements, no loud noises. Let me do the talking first.”

Thea nods, and she looks like she’s going to be sick.

Roy moves his arm up to her back, rubbing it soothingly.

“Felicity…how bad is he? Really?” Roy asks.

Felicity bites her lower lip, but she can’t find the strength to speak.

She shakes her head.

Thea gasps quietly and Roy mumbles “it’s okay” as he kisses the top of her head again.

“I’m sorry, Thea,” Felicity says shakily. “I just want you to be prepared. Oliver…he’s not the same Oliver we used to know.”

“I understand,” Thea whispers, and she rubs a hand over her face, brushing away her tears. “It’s okay. I just…I just want to see my brother.”

Felicity nods, then gestures her head toward the stairs.

“Let’s go.”

And so Felicity leads the two of them up the stairs to her room.

To Oliver.

She pauses outside the doorway, taking a long, deep breath to calm herself. Then she knocks on the wall outside the door before walking into the room.

“Oliver…I’m here.”

Oliver’s where she left him, sitting up against the headboard. He has one pillow behind his back and the other resting on his lap, where he grips it tightly in his fists; for comfort or as a shield, she’s not sure.

“Felicity,” he says quietly, and it’s purely an acknowledgement.

“That’s right, honey. It’s me. And I’ve brought you some visitors. They’re really happy to know that you’re okay.”

As one, Thea and Roy step into the room behind her. She can hear a sharp intake of breath from both of them, and the quietest whisper of “oh my god” from Thea.

“Felicity?” Oliver questions, sitting up straighter against the headboard. He pulls the pillow up higher, covering his thin, bare chest, and he clutches it tightly.

“Your sister’s here, and she’s brought Roy with her, too.”

She looks behind her, and she recognizes the mixed look of horror and pain on both their faces. Thea’s trembling slightly, her eyes filling with tears, and Roy pulls her closer to his side.

She turns back to Oliver.

“They want to come in and say hi to you. Is that okay?”

Oliver looks over her shoulder at Roy and Thea, then quickly turns his gaze back to her. His eyes are wide with fear, and Felicity’s heart plummets into her stomach.

_Please,_ she begs whoever will listen. _Please tell me he hasn’t forgotten his own sister._

“Oliver, it’s Thea, and Roy’s here, too. You remember them, don’t you?”

He doesn’t answer her, continuing to stare at her with wide eyes, and she knows he’s trying.

There’s still hope.

“Everything’s going to be okay, Oliver. I promise. It’s Thea – your sister. She’s missed you so much, just like me and John.”

The fact that she has to remind Oliver that Thea’s his sister breaks her heart, and she can’t imagine what Thea’s going through. Between Oliver’s physical state and the fear in his eyes, she knows Thea must be in ten different kinds of pain right now.

Just like _she_ was when she first rescued Oliver.

But there’s hope in her heart, and she prays that Thea can find her own.

She turns back to her friends, and she finds both of them close to tears. The younger Queen looks devastated...but there’s a fierce determination in her eyes, too. Felicity grabs Thea’s hand and squeezes. Thea squeezes back, biting her lower lip. Felicity nods, and Thea takes a long, deep breath before nodding in return.

Felicity turns back to Oliver and smiles.

“Thea’s going to come say hi to you now, okay, honey?”

Oliver stares at her long and hard.

And then, finally, he looks over her shoulder at Thea, nods, and says, “Felicity.”

Felicity sighs. The word means “okay,” but she can’t imagine how Thea sees it. Her brother is looking right at her, and the only thing he can say is someone else’s name.

“Ollie….”

Thea’s voice is thick with tears she’s trying desperately to hold back, and Felicity steps aside so Thea can take a step forward. Roy lets her go, wrapping his arms tightly around his own chest, clearly missing her presence.

Oliver watches his sister quietly, not moving an inch. Thea takes a few more steps toward him, then stops. When Oliver still doesn’t move, she takes a few more.

“Ollie, it’s me. It’s Speedy.”

Oliver hugs the pillow closer, still not saying a word.

“I’m so happy to see you,” Thea whispers, and she’s just a couple steps from the bed now. “I missed you so much.”

She’s right next to the bed, and she reaches out a hand to touch Oliver’s arm.

Oliver flinches.

And Felicity watches helplessly as Thea’s whole world comes crashing down.

“Ollie…it’s _me_ . It’s Thea. Your…your sister. Ollie, _please_.”

She puts out her hand, then pulls it back at the last second.

She’s trembling now, and a quiet sob escapes her.

Roy moves behind her, and Felicity puts an arm out to stop him.

“Wait,” she whispers.

_“Felicity,”_ Roy hisses behind her, and Oliver jerks his head up to look at her. He’s in “fight or flight” mode now, teetering close to the edge of “flight,” and she can’t let him push Thea away. She won’t.

“It’s okay, honey,” she tells Oliver firmly. She drops her arms to her sides, letting Oliver know there’s nothing to be scared of. “Everything’s okay. _I promise._ ”

And finally, Oliver nods. He turns his gaze back to Thea, and while he still doesn’t say a word to her, he doesn’t look scared anymore.

_“Ollie,”_ T _hea moans, her voice shaking, and she puts her hand on his right shoulder._

Oliver doesn’t flinch, and he doesn’t show any fear….

He doesn’t show anything.

As Thea wraps her arms around her brother, Oliver sits still and quiet.

He doesn’t flinch or cry out.

He doesn’t say Felicity’s name.

He doesn’t look scared.

He doesn’t do anything.

Thea buries her face against Oliver’s neck, and her brother doesn’t react at all.

Felicity can’t bear to watch this anymore…but before she can take a single step, Thea pulls away from her brother, lets out a quiet sob, and runs from the room.

“Thea!” Roy shouts, and he quickly follows her out of the room.

Oliver turns to Felicity. He looks confused by Thea’s reaction, and also slightly hurt, like he can’t understand what he’s done wrong.

“Felicity?” Oliver asks, and his voice trembles slightly.

Felicity shakes her head.

“It’s okay, baby. Everything’s fine,” she assures him, even though everything most certainly is _not_ fine. “You did great. Thea’s just...she’s had a long day.”

She has no idea how to explain this to him. How can she possibly begin? The fear and mistrust when Thea approached him, his unwillingness to hug his own _sister…_. This is bad, so very bad, but she can’t tell him that; she’ll only make him feel worse, and that’s the last thing she wants to do right now.

“I’m going to go talk to Thea, okay? I’ll just be right downstairs.”

Oliver nods in response, and Felicity sighs deeply.

“Maybe after Thea’s had some rest, she can come back upstairs and talk to you. Then you’ll have something else to listen to instead of just me babbling on all the time. Would you like that?”

Oliver smiles.

“Felicity,” he answers affirmatively.

Felicity’s heart lightens a bit in her chest. He seems more than willing to listen to his sister talk, and that can only help him.

“Good, Oliver. That’s good. I’ll be right back, okay?”

Oliver nods, and she doesn’t waste anymore time as she leaves the room.

She makes it back to the living room just in time to watch Thea hurl a vase against a wall.

Felicity flinches, and she looks back up the stairs, praying the noise doesn’t spook Oliver. Thankfully, Oliver doesn’t make a sound, and Felicity turns back in time to see Roy grab Thea’s hand as she reaches for a coffee mug.

“Thea, you need to calm down, baby,” Roy tells her calmly. “Throwing things isn’t going to help him.”

Thea jerks her hand out of his grip, and she turns her gaze to Felicity. The calm, quiet girl of a few minutes ago has been replaced by a sister filled with rage and pain.

_“Who did this to him?”_ she demands, stepping closer to Felicity. “What’ve they done to my brother?”

Felicity has no answers for Thea, and she feels terrible about it. They’d never been able to figure out the identity of Oliver’s kidnapper, just the location where they’d been keeping him. Prometheus is their number one suspect, but she has no way of proving that.

As for what’s been done to him….

“I’m sorry, Thea. I’m so sorry.”

Thea moans, putting her head in her hands as she turns away from her.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Roy whispers, moving to her side and putting his hands on her shoulders. “We’ll find whoever did this to him and we’ll make them pay. I promise.”

Thea pulls her hands away from her head, tears of frustration burning in her eyes.

_“Why doesn’t he remember me?”_ Her voice is small, broken, and Felicity’s heart aches for Thea Queen, who’s been through more in her short life than anyone should ever have to go through.

She doesn’t deserve this, too.

“I don’t know, Thea. I don’t have any answers,” Felicity tells her, taking a step closer to the two of them. “I wish I did.”

Thea whimpers, putting her hands on Roy’s shoulders to steady herself.

“I finally got Ollie back and…and I don’t recognize him anymore. My own brother doesn’t know who I am. It’s like I’m a stranger to him.”

“He just needs time, baby.”

Thea shakes her head, then buries her face against Roy’s chest.

_“I miss my brother,”_ Thea cries softly.

Roy wraps his arms around Thea and pulls her close, rubbing her back with one hand and running his fingers through her hair with the other. He kisses her forehead gently, closing his eyes, and he does his best to comfort her.

Felicity closes the distance between them, fighting back her own tears. She puts her hands on Thea’s shoulders and rubs gently.

“We’ll get through to him, Thea. I _know_ we will. This is still Oliver we’re talking about, and if there’s one thing we know about your brother it’s that he’s _strong_.”

Thea cries harder, holding on tightly to Roy’s shoulders.

Felicity presses her chest to Thea’s back and wraps her arms around both of her friends, resting her hands on top of Thea’s. Thea trembles between her and Roy, and Roy’s silent tears hit the top of Thea’s head. Felicity holds them both close as she presses a kiss to the back of Thea’s head, and she hears a quiet sob that could’ve come from any one of them…or perhaps all of them.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Felicity whispers against Thea’s hair. “We’ll get our Oliver back. I promise.”

_…tbc…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter makes a brief reference to a ficlet I wrote two summers ago called “My Girl.” One of my personal Olicity headcanons involves this being “their song,” because it so perfectly encapsulates how Felicity makes Oliver feel, and imagining him singing her this song makes me feel warm and fuzzy (in my head Oliver has a terrible voice, but when he’s singing to her he doesn’t care


	5. Miles to Go Before I Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started writing this it was a future fic. Now it's technically a season 5 alternate canon/AU fic. Adjusted the summary accordingly. :)

**_< \--Chapter Four: Miles to Go Before I Sleep-->_ **

Thea decides not to go back upstairs to see Oliver again. Instead, she asks Roy to take her home: back to her old apartment in Star City (for which Felicity has been diligently paying rent, in the hope that the younger Queen would eventually return). Roy agrees, wrapping an arm around Thea’s shoulder and planting a soft kiss on top of her head.

“We’ll call you as soon as we’ve had a bit of sleep,” Roy assures Felicity, pulling Thea tighter against his side. “It’s been…a long day,” he says with a sigh.

 _An understatement_ , Felicity thinks to herself. She sees her friends to the door, rubbing a hand along Thea’s upper back before they leave.

“I’ll take good care of your brother, Speedy. I promise.”

Thea doesn’t look back at her, doesn’t say a word. Felicity’s heart clenches painfully in her chest, and she wonders if she’s somehow upset her. Eventually, Thea nods, but she still refuses to make eye contact as she leaves the loft, pulling Roy out with her. Roy shoots Felicity a look that’s probably meant to be hopeful but only seems pained instead.

It’s clear that Thea’s more upset than she’s letting on, but Felicity can’t blame her for that in the slightest. She can’t imagine how she would feel if someone she’d known her whole life suddenly couldn’t remember her anymore.

Felicity rubs tiredly at her brows, suddenly realizing just how hard her head is pounding. It’s been a long time since she’s slept…or eaten for that matter, she thinks, as her stomach rumbles without warning.

Sighing deeply, she decides to check on Oliver before tending to her own needs.

It’s something that will all too quickly become her new normal.

* * *

 

When Felicity gets back upstairs, she finds Oliver sitting up on the edge of the bed. He’s fidgeting, clearly uncomfortable.

“Oliver, what’s wrong?” she asks quietly.

Oliver looks at her nervously. He fidgets even more under her gaze, and he places his right hand against his lower abdomen.

“ _Felicityyy.”_

It’s a quiet whine of her name - unlike any way she’s heard him say it so far - and she can tell that something is really upsetting him.

“Does it hurt?” she asks carefully, taking a step closer to him.

He shakes his head slightly, then bites his lower lip and nods. He turns away from her, cheeks flushing red as if he’s embarrassed.

“I don’t understand,” she says. “Do you-”

And that’s when she notices that he’s clenching his legs together, moving his body back and forth ever so slightly.

“Do you have to use the bathroom?” she asks him, and Oliver looks back up at her and nods vigorously.

“Felicity.”

Felicity shakes her head, taking a few more steps toward him until she stands at his side. She doesn’t understand why he hasn’t just gone. Unless….

“Do you need me to help you?” she asks carefully.

Oliver shakes his head, looking over toward the bathroom. He whines softly, and while it’s not a noise she’s ever heard him make, it’s familiar nonetheless, though she can’t quite place it. A dark foreboding starts to settle in the pit of her stomach.

“Okay, honey. Why don’t you go to the bathroom and I’ll wait right here in case you need help.”

Oliver nods, slowly pushing himself up off the bed. He’s just about to start walking when she grasps his shoulder gently.

“Take that with you,” she tells him, pointing toward the rolling stand that holds his IV bag. “You can hold onto it for balance.”

Oliver grips the stand in his right hand and takes a step forward. He hobbles slightly, but the stand helps, and he smiles softly at her before moving toward the bathroom as fast as his injuries will allow him.

Watching him go, it hits her hard and fast. That low whine…it’s the same noise her childhood dog used to make when he needed to be let outside.

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Felicity gasps quietly, covering her mouth quickly to stifle a moan.

Oliver wasn’t looking for her help...he was looking for her permission.

Her stomach roils, and she’s terrified she’s going to be sick. A thousand scenarios fly through her mind, all of them equally upsetting. Did he have to ask for permission before they’d let him relieve himself? Did they leave him tied up all the time, only letting him down when it was too late? Did they punish him if he had an accident? Did they give him access to any facilities at all, or ever give him a chance to bathe, or-

She’s torn from her thoughts by the sound of Oliver calling to her from the bathroom.

“ _Felicity?”_

Felicity takes a deep, steadying breath before heading into the bathroom. Oliver’s standing over the toilet awkwardly, his right hand gripping the IV stand, the other fumbling at the waistband of his pants.

His broken wrist. Of course.

“Oh, honey,” Felicity sighs. “It’s okay. Here, let me help you.”

Wordlessly, she unties his pants, pulling them down his legs. Then she stands at his side, letting him rest his left arm on her shoulder for support as he reaches down to grab himself with his right.

And in that moment, she reaches deep down inside herself and finds a strength she didn’t know she had. She grabs onto it tightly, standing firm and tall at Oliver’s side. She wraps her spine in steel, plants roots like a tree, and refuses to bend. She doesn’t tremble, doesn’t flinch. There’s not an ounce of embarrassment or awkwardness to be found in her body. He needs her, and she’s going to be there for him no matter what. It’s as simple as that.

When he’s done, she pulls his pants back up and helps him toward the sink. She rubs soap onto his hands, gripping them carefully as she directs them under the warm water flowing from the tap. She scrubs them gently until they’re all clean, then turns off the water and grabs a towel. She dries them slowly, then places the towel back on the bar.

She holds Oliver’s hands in her own, staring down at them quietly. They’re calloused and rough, just like she remembers them, and when she bends down and kisses his knuckles she can smell the peppermint soap on his fingers.

Oliver gasps quietly, and Felicity looks up at him. There are tears in his eyes, and Felicity shakes her head.

“You don’t need to ask me for permission, Oliver. _Not ever._ Do you understand?”

Oliver nods, whispering her name quietly.

“And if you ever need help, you only need to ask me. Okay?”

He nods again.

_“FeLIcity.”_

“You’re welcome,” she replies. Then she stands on the tips of her toes and kisses him on the forehead. She lets her lips linger against him, breathing in the scent of sweat and her shampoo and the smell that is uniquely Oliver.

 _“I love you,”_ she whispers against his skin, and when he says “ _Fe-LI-ci-ty”_ in return she knows that she will do anything and everything within her power to make him whole again.

* * *

 

Doctor Schwartz returns later that night. Thankfully, Oliver’s able to get some rest, and he’s more receptive to her ministrations this time around.

Mary sets him up with both a knee brace and an ankle brace for his right leg, and a splint for his wrist. She also supplies him with a pair of crutches. She advises Felicity not to let him move around too much for the first few days, telling her that sleep and bed rest are what’s best for Oliver right now. She gives her instructions on how to keep Oliver’s leg elevated and how often she should apply ice to his knee and ankle. They both agree that it makes sense to keep Oliver up here on the second floor for now, where he has access to both a comfortable bed and a bathroom. Mary also tells Felicity that she should continue to keep Oliver on the IV for a week or so in order to help him get his strength back.

Then Dr. Schwartz advises, quite strongly, that Felicity should find a way to get Oliver into the hospital within the next two weeks. There’s only so much she can do for him from home, and he’ll need more intensive care if he’s going to heal properly. Felicity figures that in the last ten years Oliver’s healed all right from things far worse, but she of course agrees. She wants to give Oliver some time to adjust before subjecting him to the hospital, though, especially because it means the public will find out that he’s back, and she’s not sure he’s ready for that, either.

Mary also informs Felicity that Oliver’s blood test results came back negative for any infections, and that his drug tests came back negative as well. Felicity helps Oliver supply a urine sample so Mary can test that too, in the hopes that they might find some small trace of whatever drugs his captors may have used on him.

After Mary’s gone, Felicity sits down at Oliver’s side, sighing quietly as she adjusts the pillows under his right leg.

“How do you feel, Oliver?” Felicity asks, and Oliver whimpers.

_“Felicityyy.”_

“Where does it hurt, honey?” she inquires gently, running a soothing hand against his furrowed brow.

Oliver points down to his foot, and Felicity leans down and places a soft kiss against the skin right above his ankle.

“Anywhere else?”

Oliver looks at her carefully, like he’s trying hard to remember something. Then he points to his right knee.

Felicity smiles, then bends down and kisses the small patch of skin peeking out from the brace.

“Does your wrist hurt, too?” she asks, and Oliver nods. Felicity leans over him and gently kisses the back of his hand, as close as she can get to his wrist with the splint on it.

“How about your head, Oliver? Does that hurt?”

Oliver nods, whispering her name quietly as he points to his forehead, tears welling at the corners of his eyes. Felicity kisses him softly, right between his eyebrows, and she can actually feel him relaxing beneath her touch.

 _“FeLIcity,”_ he sighs in contentment, and she smiles as she pulls away from him.

“Anywhere else, baby?”

Oliver stares at her long and hard. There’s a spark of recognition there, she just knows it.

And when Oliver lays his hand over his chest and says “ _Felicity…”_ she places her hands gently against his sides, leans over, and kisses his chest: right over his heart.

Oliver gasps underneath her, and she can feel his heart beat faster under her lips. She smiles against his skin as he reaches down with his good hand and rests his palm against the back of her head.

“Felicity?” he asks quietly, running his fingers through her hair, and he sounds so much like her old Oliver that she can’t stop the quiet sob that escapes her. She muffles it against his chest as she takes a deep breath, breathing him in.

“I’m here, Oliver. I’m right here,” she whispers against his skin, and she wants to pull away and look at him but she’s terrified of breaking the spell. She pulls away just long enough to catch her breath before kissing him again, savoring the feel of his heart beating strong against her cheek, his chest rising and falling underneath her; full of life and promise.

 _“Always,”_ she whispers, and when she pulls away to look at him - her heart yearning for him to come back to her - he lets go of her head, his hand falling back against the bed. And just like that, the moment’s gone.

But as Oliver closes his eyes, brow furrowing once more as the pain settles back in, Felicity clings hard to hope. He remembered something just now – _felt_ something – and if she only keeps trying, she knows in her heart that she can bring him back.

She just needs time, and patience, and care.

And speaking of care….

She pulls away from him, sighing deeply as she stands and grabs the pain pills and a glass of water from the end table.

“These’ll help with the pain, honey. I promise.”

* * *

 

Oliver sleeps on and off through the morning and most of the day. Felicity finds herself waking him from nightmares more than she would like, but she does what she can to calm him and get him back to sleep.

John calls her a little before noon, and she spends a good hour with him on the phone discussing the team’s reaction to the news about Oliver’s condition. After the phone call and a light lunch, she sits quietly at the kitchen table and takes some time to write in her journal. It’s a habit she picked up from Oliver, who wrote down his thoughts in a journal a lot while they were dating. It had seemed to help him, and Felicity had hoped it would do the same for her. She’d started doing it last summer - when she’d been attempting to deal with her feelings about Havenrock - and she’d continued to fervently maintain the habit during Oliver’s disappearance.

When she’s done, she heads back upstairs to find Oliver still sound asleep. She grabs her copy of “Prisoner of Azkaban” and climbs into bed next to him, and the sound of his light snoring makes her smile.

A little after 5pm, the doorbell rings unexpectedly, and Felicity extricates herself from under the covers as quietly as possible so as not to wake Oliver. As she heads down the stairs, her unknown guest rings the bell again, and Felicity cringes.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, hold your horses,” she says, loud enough so whoever’s outside can hear her but not so loud that Oliver can. When she reaches the door, she looks through the peephole to find Quentin Lance on the other side.

“Quentin?” she asks curiously as she opens the door.

“Can we talk?” Lance asks without preamble. He’s shifting ever so slightly from foot to foot, almost like he’s nervous, and Felicity smiles warmly at him.

“Please, come in,” she offers, standing aside. “Oliver’s asleep upstairs.”

Lance nods, his gaze turning to the upper level of the loft. She knows he must want to see Oliver, but she doesn’t think now is a good time, and she tells him as much.

“He’s not up to visitors right now, Quentin. I’m sorry.”

Lance shakes his head as he sits down on the couch.

“It’s fine. That’s not...that’s not why I’m here.”

Felicity nods, sitting down on the chair across from him.

“And why _are_ you here?” she asks.

Lance looks down at his feet and takes a deep breath, as though he’s steadying himself. When he looks back up at her, there’s a determination in his eyes.

“I want to help him,” Lance says, his voice shaking slightly, and Felicity’s heart aches for him.

In the months following Laurel’s death (and later, his breakup with Felicity’s mother), Quentin had leaned hard on Oliver, and the two men had grown close. Oliver had offered Lance the position of deputy mayor because he’d believed he could handle it, and Oliver’s unwavering faith in him had kept Lance going. It had helped get him out of bed and into the office every day. It had helped keep him at City Hall and out of the local bars.

After Oliver disappeared, Lance had taken on the job of  interim mayor. He’d done it because he knew that’s what Oliver would’ve wanted, but it wasn’t something he’d wanted to do forever - as he’d made plain to her on more than one occasion. And yet, as the weeks went by, Lance did his best to keep the city running, holding onto the hope that the team would find Oliver safe and sound, and that when they did, Oliver would have his job to come back to.

Now, watching Lance squirm uncharacteristically on her couch, Felicity thinks back on John’s phone call earlier that morning.

According to Diggle, Lance had taken the news of Oliver’s condition hard - harder than either of them had anticipated - and Felicity suspects it’s because of that newfound sense of support and respect the two men had shared for those few months.  After leaving Diggle standing alone in the Mayor’s office with nothing more than a “thank you for telling me” in response, John had realized that Lance shouldn’t be alone. He’d found him in the first place he looked: the local bar closest to City Hall, eyes red and wet with unshed tears as he nursed a beer. Lance had told him it felt like he’d lost a son, and John had done his best to assure him that he hadn’t; that Oliver _could_ and _would_ get better. He just needed time, and the love and support of family and friends; people like Quentin. Lance had sat quietly for a few minutes, staring down at the bottle in his hand as Diggle finished his own drink. Finally, he’d looked back up at Diggle, smiled, and paid for both John’s drink and his own unfinished beer before returning to City Hall.

“I want to help Oliver,” Lance says again, voice stronger this time, “and I think I’ve found a way to do that.”

Felicity nods, encouraging him to continue.

“I’ve taken six of my most trusted men from the Anti-Crime Unit and put together a small team: a special task force whose mission is to help protect Oliver Queen. They’re going to set up cameras both around the building and inside of it, as well as inside the loft itself. They’ll monitor you and Oliver at all times from a discreet location in the office building across the street. The cameras inside the loft will be stationary, set up precisely so we can see every angle of the loft, and they’ll record video only, no audio, so you can still have some privacy.”

Felicity nods slowly, attempting to take in everything Lance is saying. Normally, the idea that Oliver Queen needed protection would be laughable, but now….

“I think it’s a great idea,” she responds, and the smile that lights up the man’s face shows her just how much that answer means to him. She has no doubt that Lance would’ve fought her on this tooth and nail if he’d needed to, but he’s clearly grateful that she agrees with him.

“I do have one request though,” Felicity adds, glancing up at the room above her where Oliver still sleeps quietly.

“Which is?”

“No cameras in the bathrooms or in the bedroom. Even if Oliver doesn’t know they’re there, I want him to have the chance to rest and heal in peace and with discretion.”

“I think we can agree on that,” Lance assures her. “Let me show you what I had in mind.”

Lance guides her around the lower floor of the loft, showing her where the cameras would go. He also points out the building across the street where the task force would set up base and describes where the outdoor cameras would go as well: in key locations from the parking garage to the fire escape near her bedroom window to the roof up above. Lance has clearly thought it all out, and Felicity has to admit that the thought of knowing that Oliver will have others looking out for him too takes some weight off her shoulders.

“Listen, I know the idea of having all these cameras around isn’t exactly ideal,” Lance admits. “It’s just that...well, I’ll sleep better at night knowing someone’s looking out for you two.”

Felicity doesn’t think twice: she throws her arms around Lance and hugs him.

“Thank you, Quentin,” she whispers against his shoulder, and she smiles when Lance hugs her in return.

“Do you really think you can fix him?” Lance asks her quietly, and when his voice breaks slightly on the words Felicity just hugs him tighter.

“I’m going to do whatever it takes,” she assures him.

* * *

 

On Oliver’s third day home, Felicity decides it’s time to call her mother, who’s back in Vegas after her mutually respectful breakup with Quentin Lance.

Donna cries when she hears the news, and she promises Felicity that she’ll be on the first flight out to help her. Felicity’s surprised to discover that, for the first time since moving to Star City, she desperately wants her mother at her side. But deep down, she knows it’s not the right time. Not yet. If Oliver’s not responding well to his own sister, there’s no telling how he’ll respond to her well-intentioned but overwhelming mother.  
  
“I’m sorry, Mom. He needs time to adjust. Maybe once he’s used to living in the loft again….”

“It’s okay, honey. I understand. Oliver needs you now more than ever.”

Felicity nods before realizing her mother can’t see her.

“Yeah. Yeah, he does. And I’m going to be there for him. I’m going to do whatever it takes to bring him back to me.”

“I know you are, sweetie. Oliver’s so lucky to have you, you know that, right?”

Felicity bites her lip, fighting hard to hold back her tears.

“Everyone keeps telling me that. I just…I hope that I’m enough.”

“You’re always enough, baby. Always,” Donna assures her, and Felicity can hear the tears in her mother’s voice.

Felicity nods, letting her own tears falls, and she sobs quietly.

“I love you, Mom.”

“I love you, too, Felicity. You give Oliver my best, okay honey? And if you need _anything_ , call me. I’ll be here.”

“Thank you.”

Donna sighs, and Felicity can picture her mother’s warm smile as she says, “You’re welcome, _meyn_ _kl_ _eyn zheni_ _._ If you need me, I’ll be on the first plane out.”

* * *

 

Later that same day, Thea returns to the loft.

“I need to see him again,” Thea tells her when she answers the door, and Felicity invites her in. She offers to go with her, but Thea wants to see him alone. So Felicity sits quietly in the living room with Roy, drumming her fingers nervously against her coffee cup.

Ten minutes later, Thea emerges from Oliver’s room. Her eyes are glassy, her expression blank, and Felicity’s heart crashes in her chest.

“Thea-“

But before she or Roy can even stand from the couch, Thea bolts out of the loft. Roy follows her, promising to call Felicity when he knows what’s going on.

That night, Felicity puts Oliver to bed after helping him with a bath, and she finds a voicemail from Roy on her phone.

“Thea just fell asleep. We talked for a long time on the car ride back to her apartment. She’s…she’s angry, Felicity, but right now she doesn’t have anyone to direct that anger at. I thought maybe it would help if she went back to work at the mayor’s office, maybe helped out Lance with all the work he’s got now that he’s acting mayor, but…. She wants to put the suit back on, Felicity. I didn’t think it was a good idea, but she told me I wasn’t going to change her mind; that I could either help her find the people who did this to her brother or I could leave. And you know I can’t leave her, Felicity; not like this. I talked to Digg about reforming the team, because she shouldn’t be doing this alone. He wants to talk to you first, but I think…I think Thea needs this. I think we _all_ do. We can’t let those bastards get away with what they did to Oliver.”

After Oliver’s finally fallen asleep, Felicity sits on the living room couch and calls John. They talk for half an hour, going over the pros and cons of putting Team Arrow back in action. In the end, it boils down to just one thing.

“Is this what everyone wants?” she asks carefully.

“We need this, Felicity,” Diggle tells her. “Oliver has you - he _needs_ you - but we need to do something, too. We need to do something to help him. _This_ is what we can do.”

Felicity smiles, because she gets it, of course she does. John and Thea and the rest of the team love Oliver, too, and they want to do their part to help him.

“I understand, John. I do. But you’ll have to do it without me. I can’t focus on revenge right now. Oliver needs me too much. I need to focus on being there for him.”

“I know,” John agrees.

When she finally hangs up, Felicity leans back against the couch and sighs, rubbing tiredly at her eyes behind her glasses.

This is what the team needs, and she gets that, but she’s worried about Thea. Self-destructive and unhealthy obsessions with revenge run rampant in the Queen family. She’s seen firsthand the kind of pain that seeking vengeance can cause, and she doesn’t want that for Thea. She takes comfort in the fact that Thea’s not alone. She has John and Roy and the rest of Team Arrow to look out for her.

Meanwhile, Felicity has her own Queen to look out for.

So she climbs the stairs, lies down next to Oliver (who seems to be sleeping peacefully for once), and falls asleep with her hand resting over his heart.

* * *

 

For the first week of his recovery, Oliver spends most of his time sleeping.

It’s a fitful rest, full of nightmares and cold sweats and screams of “Felicity!”

Felicity does her best to help him. She keeps his IV full, ices his leg and wrist, massages his aches, and gives him pain meds when he needs them. She gives him a bath every other day and helps him use the bathroom for the first few days until he gets the hang of working with his broken wrist.

When he has trouble sleeping, she gives him pills.

When he wakes from nightmares crying and screaming her name, she comforts him. She whispers soothing words to him, rubs his chest and his back, and runs her fingers through his hair. When things get really bad, she rests his head in her lap and sings to him. She sings “Hey Jude” and “My Girl” and “I Need a Hero,” and as Oliver cries himself back to sleep, Felicity holds him close and reminds him that he’s home now.

Felicity spends her time sleeping next to him, sitting in bed reading, or curled up in a chair in the corner writing in her journal or attempting to do some work from home. Going into work is out of the question, but being the boss of her own company has its advantages. Curtis holds down the fort at Smoak Technologies in her absence, calling her from time to time when he has questions and keeping tabs on how Oliver is doing.

Though Curtis and the rest of the team are anxious to see Oliver, Felicity thinks it’s better if they stay away for awhile. She’s afraid that too much interaction will overload him, and while Rene, Evelyn, Rory, and Curtis aren’t exactly pleased, they all agree that it’s for the best.

Diggle stops by a few to check on Oliver’s progress. Oliver smiles at Digg when he sees him, but aside from that, he doesn’t really interact with the man he used to call brother. John doesn’t seem upset by it, though.

“He needs time, Felicity,” John assures her five days after bringing Oliver home. “I get that. I’m just glad that Oliver has you to help him.”

Felicity smiles at John and pulls him into a hug.

“And I’m glad I have _you,_ John Diggle.”

John hugs her tighter.

“Me, too,” he agrees.

* * *

 

Almost a week after bringing him home, Felicity begins to notice positive changes in Oliver’s health. His cuts are healing well, thanks to clean bandages and the doctor’s well sewn stitches, and the burn on his lower back is also healing nicely. The nutrients in the IV bags seem to be working wonders. His ribs are less prominent, and his harsh angles are already beginning to soften a bit. Between his knee, the gash along his thigh, and his twisted ankle, his right leg is still bothering him, but he’s already limping less during his short trips to the bathroom and regular walks around the upper floor of the loft for exercise. Proper hydration and plenty of lotion has given his body more moisture, and his skin is brighter and less dry, making him look generally healthier. And of course all the sleep he’s getting - as fitful as it is at times - is playing its part, too.

He’s slowly beginning to regain his strength, and it makes her smile to see his progress.

And yet...while he’s healing well physically, his emotional healing is another story.

She doesn’t expect him to bounce back right away, but when all he can say after a week is still just her name, it’s a bit disheartening.

She doesn’t let it get her down, though. One slow step at a time.

Eventually, she decides that it’s time to move Oliver downstairs. She’s long since started climbing the walls; spending so much time in her tiny bedroom has begun to drive her crazy. Beyond that, she knows that Oliver needs to exercise his leg in order for it to heal properly. That means he needs more space to move around in than the upper floor can offer. She also wants to get him eating solid foods again, which means he’d be better off a bit closer to the kitchen.

She briefly debates bringing him back to his own apartment, but decides against it. She could always tell that Oliver’s apartment was somewhere for him to sleep and eat and shower; nothing more. His apartment had never really been “home” to him. Not like the loft is.

And so, exactly one week after bringing Oliver home, Felicity calls Diggle and asks him to help her move the bed frame downstairs. They push the furniture off to the edges of the living area and set up the bed in front of the fireplace. Oliver quietly watches them work from his spot at the kitchen table. When the bed’s been remade and the pillows thrown back on, Felicity takes a deep breath, wiping sweat off her brow. She smiles at Oliver.

“Well, what do you think, honey?” she asks gesturing at the cozy new setup.

Oliver just smiles at her and says “Felicity,” and she laughs softly, catching John smiling next to her.

“Yeah, I like it, too.”

* * *

 

After moving the bed down to the living room, Felicity asks a member of Oliver’s protection force to help her rearrange the cameras so that none of them are left directly facing the bed. The task force will still be able to see all around the area, but they won’t be able to monitor Oliver as he sleeps. When they’re done, the cameras are set up well enough that any danger will be seen well ahead of time, and Felicity feels more comfortable knowing that Oliver can’t be watched while he’s sleeping...because that’s when he’s most vulnerable.

Oliver gets his exercise by walking around the edges of the room a few times a day. He uses one of the crutches to help himself move, and she stands by his side as he walks, ready to catch him. He stumbles from time to time, but she grabs his arm and helps him stand straight again, gently prompting him to keep going.

She never lets him fall. Not once.

Oliver’s able to use the bathroom by himself now - for which she’s grateful - but she still helps him bathe every other day. Felicity knows this is something he could probably do for himself, but if she’s honest, she does it more for her own sake than for his. She continues to add lavender to his baths to soothe him, and as his cuts begin to heal she adds epsom salt to calm his aching muscles.

On the eighth day after rescuing him, Felicity begins to feed him solid foods. She starts off simple: bread and crackers and soup broth. Oliver throws up twice that day. She rubs his back soothingly both times, running a cool cloth over his forehead when he’s done and kissing his brow tenderly. By the following night, he’s able to keep his food down, and she smiles as she watches him fall asleep with a full belly for the first time in God knows how long.

On the ninth day, she begins to wonder what she might do to help Oliver heal emotionally. While the sleep and bed rest are clearly helping him, he can’t sleep all the time anymore, and he needs something do when he’s awake. She needs a way to keep him occupied so he’s not just staring off into space, which unnerves her greatly because she has no idea what’s going through his head anymore when he gets quiet.

She shows him some of his favorite movies and TV shows (carefully avoiding anything she thinks might trigger him) but she gets no reaction from him, either positive or negative. When she laughs at the funny parts, he doesn’t laugh with her. When she gasps at the suspenseful parts, he doesn’t flinch. When she asks what his favorite part is or if he remembers what happens next, he just shakes his head and stares blankly at the TV.

On the eleventh day, she decides to try reading “Harry Potter” to him. She starts from the very beginning with book one, and from the very first line - “Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much” - she can tell that she has his attention. He sits quietly as she reads, but it’s not the unsettling, uninvolved silence of when they were watching movies. It’s an attentive, thoughtful silence, and he actually seems to take in what she’s saying.

She gets halfway through “Sorcerer’s Stone” before she needs to stop, and Oliver sighs her name in contentment.

“ _FeLIcity.”_

Felicity kisses his forehead gently and goes into the kitchen to make them some dinner. 

That night, she dreams that she’s at Hogwarts, and she’s just been sorted. From her seat at the Ravenclaw table, she stares thoughtfully at the quiet but kind boy she met on the Hogwarts Express, who she’s quite sure has been sorted into Slytherin by mistake.

When she wakes to the sound of Oliver screaming her name in terror, she holds him tight and sings to him.

The man in her arms is all the proof she needs that not all Slytherins are bad.

On the twelfth day, she decides to do something about his hair and beard. She can’t style them because she’s no good with anything more than hair dyeing, but she doesn’t really care; she’s just grateful to get rid of some of it and make it less messy. She cuts his hair carefully, and when she’s done she trims his beard as best as she can, choosing not shave it - partially because she doesn’t know how he’ll react to a razor, and partially because she kind of likes it.

When she’s done, she takes his hand and leads him to the bathroom so he can see himself. His beard is close cropped and neat, and while his hair is still longer than it’s ever been since he came back from the island, he more closely remembers the Oliver she knows. The streaks of gray in his hair are new, but she doesn’t mind them in the least. They remind her a bit of his scars; a sign of strength and perseverance. They’re proof that Oliver has been to Hell and back over and over, but he’s never stopped fighting

“What do you think?” she asks him. “I’m not the best stylist in the world, but I think I did okay.”

Oliver nods, giving her a quiet “Felicity” in assent, but as he stares at himself his face begins to fall.

“What’s wrong, honey?” she asks him gently.

Oliver shakes his head, patting his chin and running his fingers through his hair. He pauses as he touches a patch of gray, and he frowns. She can’t imagine how he feels when he looks in the mirror anymore, finding it hard to recognize the man staring back at him.

“I can dye your hair if it bothers you, and I can ask John to shave the beard if you want. But can I tell you a secret?”

Oliver stops messing with the beard, gazing curiously at her reflection in the mirror.

Felicity smiles, stands on the tips of her toes, and whispers in his ear.

“I think the gray suits you...and I love the beard,” she whispers conspiratorially. She beams up at him, brushing her fingers down his jaw and scratching playfully at his chin. Oliver laughs, and when he turns to look at her the smile he gives her lights up his whole face.

Felicity smiles warmly, reaching up with both hands to run her fingers through his hair.

“There’s the handsome face I remember,” she says fondly, stroking his cheeks lightly with her fingertips.

Oliver blushes, and Felicity would swear it’s the most endearing thing she’s ever seen.

“ _ FeLIcity,”  _ he responds shyly, turning away from her with a small smile.

She just smiles back at him and kisses his cheek, and when he blushes harder she laughs.

* * *

 

On the thirteenth day, she almost loses him.

She comes out of the downstairs bathroom, dressed in her pajamas and ready to climb into bed beside Oliver, when she finds the living room empty.

“Oliver?”

She doesn’t panic at first, assuming he just went upstairs, perhaps to use the other bathroom.

She checks her bedroom but he’s not there, and a quick glance tells her he’s not in the bathroom, either.

“Oliver?” she calls out again, but there’s no answer.

Her heart clenches painfully in her chest, bile rising in her throat, but she still doesn’t panic.

She checks the other bedroom just in case, but he’s not there, either.

“Oliver?!”

No answer.

She’s definitely starting to panic now, and her chest tightens as she flies back down the stairs two at a time. She opens the front door and steps outside, looking up and down the hallway, but she doesn’t see him. She goes back into the loft and closes the door behind her, fighting down a rising sense of nausea. She glances hastily around the room, her heart pounding harder in her chest as dread settles in the pit of her stomach.

“Oliver, baby, where are you? Please answer me.”

Her voice trembles against her will, and she bites her lower lip, fighting back her tears.

She heads toward the dining room to check under the table, when suddenly she spots something she hadn’t noticed before in her panic.

The door leading out to the balcony is open.

“Oliver?” she says loudly, heading quickly toward the door.

“Felicity?”

Oliver’s quiet voice answering her back is the most beautiful sound she’s ever heard, and for the first time in nearly two weeks she’s not sick of hearing her own name.

 _“Oh, thank god,”_ she gasps as she spots him, leaning up against the railing, and he turns to look at her. He’s still dressed in a t-shirt and sweats, hardly appropriate attire for the middle of February, but she couldn’t care less right now. “Why didn’t you answer me when I called you?!”

Her voice comes out louder and harsher than she meant it to, and she regrets it instantly when he flinches, eyes welling up with tears.

She sighs, forcing herself to take a long, deep breath before she speaks again.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. I’m not mad at you, I promise. But when I couldn’t find you I got scared.”

 _“Felicity…”_ he responds timidly.

She feels like she’s talking to a child, and when Oliver turns away from her like he’s been scolded, she realizes that that’s what he is now; that’s what those bastards have reduced him to.

A child.

The man who once put on a suit every night, fought and killed bad guys, and saved countless innocent lives has been beaten down into someone she barely recognizes.

The thought fills her with rage, and she wants to curse at the sky. She wants to scream and cry and hurl things off the balcony, but she can’t.

She can’t break.

_Not now, not ever._

Oliver needs her to be strong.

She bites her lip to keep from screaming and takes a step closer to him.

“It’s okay, Oliver."

He still won’t meet her gaze. He grips the railing tightly, staring down at the pavement ten stories below, and the sight fills her with dread.

“It’s...it’s really late, honey. Why don’t we go back inside?”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, just continues to stare down at the ground, and she hates that she has no idea what’s going through his head anymore. She’s always been so good at knowing what Oliver’s thinking. She knows him so well; better than he knows himself.

But everything’s different now.

She can pick up on the subtle nuances in the way he says her name. She knows when he’s saying “yes” or “no”; knows when he’s saying “please” and “thank you.” She knows when he’s angry or frustrated; knows when he’s scared or upset or in pain. She knows when he’s apologizing or pleading with her. She knows when he’s happy.

She knows when he’s saying “I love you.”

But when he can’t say “Felicity” - when he stares quietly into space like this - he goes where she can’t follow. She has no idea what thoughts go through his head anymore, in moments like this when he stares at the ground so far below them.

And it terrifies her.

“Oliver, what’s wrong, honey?”

Oliver doesn’t move or say anything. He just keeps staring down at the ground.

Felicity thinks her heart might break under the weight of the helplessness she feels. She wants so desperately to help him, but she doesn’t know what’s bothering him, and it kills her. It kills her because he’s in pain and he can’t tell her what’s wrong. It kills her because he’s hurting and she doesn’t know how to fix him.

So she does the only thing she can do.

She closes the distance between them and puts a hand on his arm. He flinches under her touch, but she doesn’t let him pull away from her.

“It’s okay, sweetie. I’m here.”

He bites his lower lip, tears rising in his eyes, and when she strokes his arm she finds that his skin is ice cold and he’s shivering.

“Oliver, you’re freezing. Come inside with me where it’s warm.”

He shakes his head, trying to pull away from her, but she grips his arm tighter, refusing to let go.

_Not now, not ever._

“Oliver, it’s okay. I’m not mad at you. Just please come with me.”

Tears fall silently down his cheeks, and he trembles under her hand.

“Oh, Oliver.”

She leans in closer and puts her other hand over his heart. He gasps under her touch, but he doesn’t pull away this time.

“It’s okay, baby. I’m here. I’m right here.”

Oliver sobs, hands gripping tighter at the handrail as he begins to cry.

She grabs his hands and tugs them off the railing, pulling him away from the edge and turning him around to face her. His hands are ice cold, and she holds them tightly between her own. She brings their entwined hands up in front of her face and breathes hard on them in an attempt to warm him.

“You’re okay, Oliver. You’re safe here.”

She places his hands on her shoulders, gliding her hands slowly up his arms, warming him with her touch as she goes. She rests her hands on his shoulders, then stands on her tiptoes and kisses him gently on the forehead.

"Everything’s going to be okay, honey. I promise.”

She’d give anything to help him, to save him from this pain, but she can’t. So she helps him the only way that she knows how: by giving him the one thing he needs most.

Love.

She places a gentle kiss over his heart and whispers against his chest.

“I love you, Oliver. I love you so much.”

Then she rests her cheek against his shoulder, burying her head under his chin and wrapping her arms around him, hugging him tight. Oliver wraps his arms around her in kind, pulling her close, and his tears soak her hair as he cries. She rubs soothingly at his back, murmuring over and over again that it’s okay. That she’s not mad, that she’s not going anywhere. That he’s safe, that he’s home. She holds him close until his tears stop, and then she pulls him back inside.

She leads him over to their bed by the fireplace and pulls back the covers. She gestures for him to lie down, and he does. Then she moves around to her side of the bed and crawls in behind him, pressing her chest to his back as she pulls the covers over them. She snuggles close to him; so close that their two bodies almost become one. Between the fire, the numerous blankets, and their shared heat, it doesn’t take long for Oliver’s shivers to subside.

When he’s finally warm again, Oliver turns around carefully in her arms, snuggling his head against her chest - just where he likes it. Felicity sighs as they resettle, wrapping her arms around his thin frame and resting a hand against the back of his head.

Before either of them can drift off to sleep, Felicity breaks the silence.

“I’m not mad at you, Oliver. But I need you to promise me something.”

“Felicity?”

“I need you to promise that you won’t wander off without me again,” she says firmly, tightening her grip on him.

Oliver shifts in her arms so he can look up at her.

“ **Felicity.** ”

It’s different from any way he’s said her name in two weeks.

“Do you promise, Oliver?”

“ **Felicity,”** he says again, nodding fervently.

She nods back.

“Thank you, Oliver. Thank you.”

He nods again, resting his head over her breasts once more, somehow managing to snuggle even closer to her. He yawns against her chest, tickling her with his long beard, and she laughs softly.

Oliver sighs against her, rubbing his cheek against her stomach.

_“FeLIcity.”_

She smiles, pressing a kiss to the top of his head as her eyelids grow heavy.

“Go to sleep, my love. I’ll be here when you wake up. I promise.”

In the end, she keeps her promise...and so does he.

* * *

 

Two weeks after she brings Oliver home, a grainy photo of her standing on the balcony next to Oliver shows up on the front page of the _Star City Star._

The headline reads : Star City Mayor Oliver Queen is Alive

_...tbc..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * A translation of Donna’s Yiddish endearment for Felicity:
> 
> meyn kleyn zheni = my little genius
> 
> That’s what Google translate gave me, at any rate. I’m not sure how accurate it is, but I wanted to try something.
> 
> * I tend to think that Felicity's a Ravenclaw, but I do think an argument could be made for her being Hufflepuff (she’s definitely a hatstall in my headcanon). As for Oliver, while he definitely has Gryffindor qualities, he’ll always be Slytherin in my mind.


	6. More Than Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mentioned this in a previous chapter, but I’m expanding on it a bit here so hopefully it’ll be easier for you guys to picture things. I’ve taken liberties with the layout of the loft, since I’m not 100% sure what it actually looks like. For the purposes of this story, I’ve assumed there’s a half bath downstairs on the other side of the kitchen with two full baths upstairs, one for each room. The bed sits in front of the fireplace, shifting the living room furniture around. One of the big couches has moved off to side of the room (out of use) and the other has moved out toward the center of the main floor. There’s a coffee table in front of the couch, and there’s also a single seat comfy chair situated by the table. The TV is still mounted above the fireplace.
> 
> Hopefully that all makes sense. :)

**< \--Chapter Five: More than Enough-->**

 

The front page of the  _ Star City Star _ was  _ not _ Felicity’s first choice for how the city should find out that Oliver was alive. She’d of course planned on telling the public eventually, but she’d been hoping that Oliver would be better healed and more emotionally prepared when the time came for it.

 

But there was nothing she could do. When Oliver had wandered out onto the porch that night, a man in one of the apartments in the building across the street had snapped a photo of Oliver with his camera and sold it to the city’s #1 newspaper.   

 

Felicity silently hopes the man chokes on the money they paid him for it.

 

That night, Lance holds a press conference to officially inform the city of Oliver’s return. He assures the citizens that yes, Oliver Queen is indeed alive, but that he’s been hurt both physically and mentally by the ordeal of his kidnapping. He doesn’t give them any details on who captured him (as they aren’t even sure themselves), nor does he give them details on Oliver’s condition. He simply informs the public that Oliver needs time and peace in order to heal, and he urges the people to give him and his loved ones space in this trying time.

 

Felicity watches the press conference from her couch with Oliver sitting next to her, and she holds his hand the entire time. When the conference is over she turns off the TV.

 

“People were going to find out eventually, Oliver. It was only a matter of time.”

 

Oliver nods, his hand shaking in hers, and Felicity turns toward him on the couch. She reaches over him and grabs his other hand, too, then squeezes both of them tightly.

 

“No one’s going to bother you here, Oliver. I promise. Lance will be increasing the security around the building.”

 

Oliver nods again, and she thinks she has him convinced. But then he shakes his head, and he whines her name quietly.

 

_ “Felicity….” _

 

She sighs, scooting closer to him on the couch, and she lets go of him. Then she grips his face gently between her hands and kisses his forehead. It’s a long, fierce kiss, and she pours all of her strength and all of the love she feels for him into it. When she pulls away, he looks down at her, tears shining in his eyes, and she smiles at him.

 

“I know you’re scared, honey, and I understand. You’ve been through a lot; more than any one person should ever have to go through. But you’re still  _ here _ . You made it home to me.” She strokes his cheeks gently with her fingertips, wiping away his tears. “You have incredible strength, Oliver Queen, and you’re going to get through this.”

 

Oliver gasps quietly as she continues to caress his face, speaking softly to him.

 

“You’re completely safe here, my love. I promise. And I’ll be with you the whole time.”

 

And finally, Oliver takes a deep breath, and he nods.

 

“That’s my hero,” she whispers, and she kisses him tenderly on the cheek before hugging him close.

 

* * *

 

It doesn’t take long for the paparazzi to become a problem. They do everything they can to sneak into the building, but with the permanent and heightened presence of the ACU, Felicity feels relatively secure in the thought that no one will be able to make it inside to bother Oliver.

 

She takes a few precautions, though. She never orders out for food. She has Diggle or a member of Team Arrow or the ACU bring her and Oliver whatever they might need. She keeps the curtains on all the windows closed, and while the darkness becomes a bit depressing after awhile, she deals with it for Oliver’s sake.

 

She deals with a lot of things for Oliver’s sake. 

 

Nearly three weeks after bringing Oliver home, Felicity starts to go a bit stir crazy. She hasn’t left the loft since the night she rescued Oliver, and she starts to think she might go batty if she has to stare at the same rooms and breathe the same stale air for much longer. 

 

But she sucks it up and she deals. Oliver needs her, and she doesn’t plan on leaving him as long as he does. 

 

* * *

 

Five days after finding out about Oliver’s return, a member of the paparazzi manages to make it as far as their front door. He gets into the building by accosting a pizza delivery boy five blocks from the loft and paying him to borrow his uniform. When Felicity hears the knock at the door she assumes it’s John, who’s on his way to give her some company. Her thoughts are occupied with Oliver, who’s having a rough day, and she forgets to check who’s there before she opens the door.

 

The man shoves his foot into the doorway and snaps a photo of her before she can react.

 

“Ms. Smoak, what can you tell me about Oliver Queen’s condition? What exactly did his kidnappers do to him?”

 

_ “Felicity?” _

 

She hears Oliver’s voice from the living room behind her, small and scared, and she sees red.

 

“ _ Get the hell out of my house,”  _ she growls at the stranger, and the man looks genuinely scared for a second. But he’s bigger than she is, and apparently he really wants a story and is willing to do anything to get it. He shoves his shoulder against the door and pushes it open, glancing around the room until he spots Oliver.

 

“Mr. Queen, how are you feeling after your ordeal?” he asks, and before Felicity can stop him he snaps a picture of Oliver, who’s standing in the living room like a deer in headlights. His shirt is off, his scars and thin body on full display for the bastard reporter who’s just invaded her home. The man lowers his camera slowly as the full extent of Oliver’s injuries seems to sink in.

 

“ _ Oh my god _ ,” the man whispers, and Felicity’s just reached out to grab the camera out of his lax hands and smash it to pieces when a pair of strong arms grabs the man by his shoulders and yanks him out into the hallway.

 

“WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!” Diggle bellows at the man, advancing on him quickly.

 

The man stands trembling in the middle of the hallway, and Felicity would be doing the same if John’s wrath had been directed at her. She’s seen her friend angry before - so angry he’s punched holes in walls and dented car doors - but that’s nothing compared to the rage she can practically feel pouring off of him now.

 

“I...I…,” the man stammers uselessly, and before she knows what’s happening Diggle hauls out and punches him hard in the face.

 

“John!” she screams. She reaches out a hand as though to stop him, but as the reporter crumples to the ground with a shout, clutching his nose, Felicity finds herself thinking the man deserves it.

 

“What kind of monster barges into a woman’s home without permission?” Digg asks, stepping closer to the man and picking up the camera he’s dropped. “What kind of scum takes pictures of a man who’s hurting and just wants to be left alone?”

 

She knows what’s coming before it happens...and she lets it happen.

 

John smashes the camera hard against the ground. Once, twice, three times. Over and over. He doesn’t stop smashing until Felicity finally gets her feet to move and puts a firm hand on her friend’s arm.

 

“John, stop. It’s over,” she assures him, and when Digg turns to her the pain she sees in his eyes is so much like the pain she sees when she looks in the mirror that it makes her heart physically ache in her chest. “It’s okay.”

 

John gasps quietly, and she squeezes his arm. 

 

Eventually, he nods, and he turns back to the man on the floor, who sits there grasping at his bleeding nose and moaning quietly.

 

Diggle tosses what’s left of the now useless camera at the reporter’s feet.

 

“ _ Leave,” _ Felicity orders the man. “Leave now and I won’t press charges. And don’t even  _ think _ about telling anyone what you’ve seen today or I  _ swear  _ I’ll make you regret the day you messed with Felicity Smoak.”

 

The man scrambles away with a whimper, leaving his broken camera on the floor.

 

“I’m sorry,” John says quietly. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that.”

 

“It’s no more than he deserved,” Felicity answers bitterly, staring down at the broken pieces of a camera that would’ve caused Oliver even more pain if its contents had been revealed.

 

“I know,” Diggle agrees. “Still, I….”

 

He looks at her helplessly, and Felicity moans softly and pulls him into a hug.

 

“I know, John. I know.”

 

John Diggle holds her tight, and it’s only when Felicity hears Oliver’s voice calling to her in fear from the loft that she picks up the broken shell of the camera and leads them both inside.

 

Between the stranger in the loft, Felicity’s harsh tones, and John’s yells, Oliver is a mess. He won’t even look at Diggle, and when Felicity tries to touch him he panics and steps away from her.

 

“FELICITY!” he shouts at her, clearly upset, and Felicity finds herself wishing she’d gotten a chance to punch the reporter herself.

 

“Oliver, it’s all right now. He’s gone.”

 

Oliver shakes his head.

 

“FELICITY!” he shouts at her again, and he steps around her, moving toward the kitchen.

 

“Oliver, please, listen to me. That man is gone now. He won’t bother us ever again.”

 

Oliver turns back to her, and she realizes that, for the first time since she rescued him, he’s angry.

 

**“Felicity,”** Oliver states emphatically.

 

Felicity shakes her head.

 

“I don’t understand,” she tells him. “Honey, I don’t-”

 

**“Felicity,”** he says again, and he holds up his pinky finger.

 

“I don’t...Oliver….”

 

And then Oliver holds out his other pinky and wraps the two fingers around each other.

 

**“Felicity.”**

 

And then it hits her.

 

A promise.  _ Her _ promise. The one she made when she told him he’d be safe with her.

 

The one she just broke.

 

“Oh...oh, Oliver, I-”

 

“FELICITY!” he yells at her. Then he limps over to the bathroom, moving faster than she’s seen him move since she got him back, and he slams the door behind him.

 

She moves to follow, but John puts a hand on her shoulder.

 

“Let him go,” he tells her carefully. “Let him have some space.”

 

“ _ I promised him _ ,” she whispers. “John, I promised him he was safe here; that no one would be able to hurt him.”

 

“And no one  _ has _ ,” Digg assures her. “The reporter’s gone, and all his evidence is in pieces in the hallway. Oliver’s safe.”

 

Felicity shakes her head. “He still got inside, John. I let him in.”

 

Diggle puts his hands on her shoulders, squeezing them firmly. “You didn’t let him in, Felicity. He barged his way past you and forced his way in. This isn’t on you.”

 

“But-”

 

“Let me talk to him.”

 

“I...what?” Felicity asks.

 

“Let me talk to him. Let me explain what happened. Let me prove to him that this is not your fault, even if you won’t believe it.”

 

Felicity shakes her head. “John-”

 

“Please, Felicity. Let me do this. Let me...let me do  _ something _ .”

 

Her breath catches in her throat at the sound of Diggle’s voice breaking and the sight of tears rising in his eyes. As much as Felicity wants to help Oliver, she knows she’s not the only one. John loves Oliver, too, and the fact that he can’t seem to help his brother like he so desperately wants to must be hell for him.

 

“Okay,” she responds, her own voice trembling. “Okay.”

 

John sighs in relief, loosening his grip on her shoulders and staring down at her feet.

 

“It’ll be okay,” he assures her, and he kisses the top of her head fondly. “It’ll be okay.”

 

And so Felicity sits outside the bathroom and waits, leaning back against the wall and listening quietly as John talks to Oliver. She doesn’t hear everything he says - he talks softly, and she’s far too caught up in her own worry - but she hears enough.

 

_ “Not her fault.” _

 

_ “She’s doing everything she can.” _

 

_ “She loves you, Oliver.” _

 

Felicity bites her lip to keep from crying, pulling her legs up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She buries her face against her knees and takes deep, calming breaths.

 

Twenty minutes later, she hears a voice calling to her carefully.

 

“Felicity?”

 

She lifts her head and looks up at her whole world.

 

Oliver stares at her quietly, and Felicity stands on shaky legs.

 

And then, finally, Oliver closes the distance between them and hugs her.

 

She gasps, her heart skipping a beat, and she pulls herself together and wraps her arms around him in return.

 

_ “Oliver,”  _ she whispers, his name the only thing she can say.

 

And Oliver answers her in kind.

 

_ “Fe-LI-ci-ty.” _

 

She smiles, holding him even tighter as she replies, “I love you, too.”

 

* * *

 

The paparazzi begin to grow restless. Unable to find out anything about what’s going on, they start spreading horrible rumors. Felicity ignores all of it. She doesn’t give a damn what people think. Oliver’s alive and he’s home and that’s all that matters. 

 

No more paparazzi manage to slither their way into Oliver’s life. But exactly three weeks after bringing him home, someone else shows up on Felicity’s doorstep unannounced. 

 

Only this time, it’s no stranger.

 

“Hey, baby. I thought maybe you could use my help.”

 

And before Felicity knows what she’s doing, she flings her arms around the woman’s neck with a broken, “Mom.”

 

* * *

After Donna Smoak walks through the door, she spends ten minutes sitting at the kitchen table across from Oliver: telling him who she is and why she’s here, and assuring him that she’s not expecting anything from him. Oliver sits quietly, and from her seat at the end of the table, Felicity can tell that he’s listening carefully to everything Donna has to say.

 

“I know you might not remember me, Oliver, and that’s okay. I don’t expect you to trust me, either. But I promise you that I’m here to help you.  _ Both of you _ .”

 

She looks at Felicity pointedly, and Felicity gives her mother a teary smile. She thought for sure having her mother here would be difficult and uncomfortable, but now that she’s here she finds herself wishing she’d called her sooner.

 

“Mom...I….”

 

Donna smiles at her. Then she reaches out, grabs Felicity’s hand, and squeezes it. 

 

“A mother always knows, baby.”

 

Felicity laughs, and she squeezes her mother’s hand in return. Then she turns to Oliver, speaking to him for the first time since they sat down at the table.

 

“You can trust her, Oliver. I promise.”

 

Oliver looks between the both of them, then gazes long and hard at Donna.

 

Finally, he nods and says, “Felicity.”

 

“That means ‘okay,’” Felicity assures her mother, and Donna just smiles warmly at Oliver. Slowly, she reaches her free hand across the table to him, holding her palm up. 

 

Oliver just stares at the offered hand, and Felicity sighs, because she doesn’t want her mother to expect too much.

 

But then Oliver reaches out and grabs Donna’s hand. Felicity gasps in surprise as Donna squeezes her hand and Oliver’s simultaneously, and it takes every ounce of strength she possesses not to burst into tears when her mother makes Oliver a promise of her own.

 

“We’re gonna do everything we can to help you get better, sweetie. I promise.”

 

* * *

 

That same night, Felicity and her mother stand out on the balcony, sipping cups of hot chocolate while Oliver sits inside watching a movie on TV. They talk for a long time about a lot of things.

 

Donna offers to stay as long as Felicity needs her to. They agree that she’s better off spending her nights in a hotel, at least until Oliver’s more comfortable with her presence. Felicity offers to pay for the hotel room, since Donna’s taken a leave of absence from her job in order to be with her, and her mother accepts. When Donna asks how Oliver’s healing, Felicity admits that she doesn’t really know how to help him. Her mother assures her that the best thing she can do is be there for Oliver.

 

But there’s something else that needs to be addressed.

 

“He needs to see a doctor in a real hospital, Felicity.”

 

“I know, Mom,” Felicity agrees, sighing deeply and taking a long sip of her hot chocolate. “Dr. Schwartz told me he should see her at Starling General soon, and I’ve been meaning to take him. But everytime I bring it up Oliver says no, and I don’t want to push him. And on top of that..ever since that reporter spooked him, I’ve been afraid to take him outside.”

 

Donna nods, then finishes her drink. When she’s done, she smiles at her daughter.

 

“Let me try?” her mother asks, and Felicity agrees.

 

Five minutes later, Felicity’s making an appointment to bring Oliver in to see Dr. Schwartz the next morning.

 

“Mom...how do you do it?” Felicity asks as she hangs up the phone.

 

Donna just shakes her head at her and smiles. 

 

“I’m a mother, Felicity. Mothers have their way. Someday you’ll understand.”

 

Felicity laughs, because she has no idea what that means, but it doesn’t really matter. So she hugs her mother close and tells her that she loves her.

 

* * *

 

Oliver’s visit to the hospital is long and stressful. As much as Oliver trusts Felicity, and as much as he tolerates Dr. Schwartz, everything about the hospital freaks him out. The bright lights and the cold rooms, the needles and the x-ray machine, the strange nurses who come in to help from time to time. Felicity stays at his side as long as she can, letting him go only when she needs to for the x-rays. When the exams and tests are all done, Mary gives them a rundown on Oliver’s progress. She says that his cuts are healing well, that he’s getting adequate nutrition and putting on weight at a healthy pace, but that she’s a bit worried that his leg and his wrist aren’t healing properly.

 

And so after hours of poking and prodding and scanning, Oliver gets fitted for a cast for his leg and a splint for his wrist. By the time everything is said and done, they’ve been at the hospital for almost ten hours. During that time, Oliver’s had multiple meltdowns, has had to be sedated, and has cried Felicity’s name more times than she can bear. But she holds it together because he needs her to.

 

As she sits quietly with Oliver in the lobby, waiting for her mother to come pick them up, she strokes his hand gently while he rests his head on her shoulder. He’s quiet and exhausted, tears dried on his face, shaking slightly from the stress...but his leg’s in a cast, his wrist is in a real splint, and she’s got a bag full of medicine and information packets and everything she needs to see that he gets better physically. Now, with the help of Diggle and her mother (and a prescription for antidepressants), she can focus more on his emotional healing.

 

Felicity smiles at the thought, and she glances out the window, hoping for a view of her car with her mother behind the wheel.

 

Instead she’s greeted with the same sight she saw a few minutes ago: no less than five news vans and a few dozen reporters, who are only stopped from entering the building because of the human shield created by members of the SCPD.

 

Felicity sighs, looking back down at Oliver. He’s followed her gaze out the window, and he whimpers at the sight, burying his face against her shoulder.

 

“ _ Felicityyy.” _

 

“I know, baby. I know. You’ve had a long day and you just want to go home.”

 

Oliver nods against her, moaning quietly, but he doesn’t say anything more. She stares out the window, wondering how she’s going to get him past all those people when the time comes.

 

“I know this was hard, Oliver, but I want you to know that I am so proud of you. You’ve been through so much, but you’ve never stopped fighting.”

 

Oliver shifts beside her, and she looks down to find him staring up at her thoughtfully.

 

“Today was important, honey, and I’m really glad you let me bring you here. I know I’ve told you this before, but I think you need to hear it again. You’re stronger than you realize, Oliver - and braver, too - and I want you to remember that in the days ahead, because I’m going to do everything in my power to help you. You’re going to get better, Oliver; I know it in my bones. Because you’re strong, and brave. Because you’re my hero...and I believe in you.”

 

Oliver watches her the entire time she speaks, and she can practically hear the gears turning in his head.

 

And then he says it. 

 

“Felicity?”

 

It’s that way he’s said it on only a handful of occasions - as though he’s close to remembering something important; as though he’s tapping into that part of himself that he buried months ago in order to keep it safe.

 

Felicity watches him quietly, afraid to speak lest she ruin the moment.

 

But then someone hisses her name from somewhere to her right, and the moment passes anyway.

 

“Mom?” she asks curiously, and looking over Oliver’s shoulder she spots her mother’s head peeking around a corner.

 

“Quentin talked to hospital management. We’re going to sneak you out through a back way. Let’s go.”

 

Five minutes later, after sneaking out of a side exit where the ambulances are parked, Felicity sits in the backseat of her car as her mother drives them home. Oliver’s fallen asleep against her shoulder, and Felicity kisses the top of his head gently, her heart aching with love and hope.

 

* * *

After his long ordeal at the hospital, Oliver naps on the bed in the living room (because of the new cast on his leg, Felicity has decided to keep it there indefinitely). As he sleeps restlessly, Felicity sits at the kitchen table with her mother and discusses ways to help Oliver heal emotionally.

 

And that’s when Donna mentions the night she talked with a client in Vegas who turned out to be an art therapist.

 

“He told me he’s helped all kinds of people with art therapy. Not just kids, but adults, too. People with PTSD and autism, things like that. Even people who’d never liked drawing before seemed to get something out of it. I think maybe it could help someone like Oliver, too.”

 

Felicity glances over at Oliver, watching carefully as he tosses in his sleep. He mumbles her name, and she considers going to him, but when he sighs and doesn’t wake up, she looks back at her mother and smiles.

 

“I think it’s worth a shot.”

 

That night, Donna goes shopping, and she returns to the loft an hour later with two big bags. One’s full of a dinner of Big Belly Burger, and the other is bursting with what must be half of an art supply store: pads of paper, paints and paintbrushes, crayons, colored pencils, and markers in every color of the rainbow and beyond.

 

Felicity unpacks the bag onto the coffee table while her mother sets out their dinner in the dining room. Oliver watches Felicity closely, staring curiously at the wide array of art supplies.

 

“You really went all out, didn’t you, Mom?” Felicity says with a laugh.

 

Donna sets a glass down on the table and beams at her.

 

“Nothing’s too much for my future son-in-law.”

 

Felicity lets the comment go, setting a final box of markers on the table, and she looks up in time to see Oliver take one of the pads of paper and open it up. He runs his hands over the smooth surface, gazing at the veritable mountain of drawing utensils. Carefully, he picks up a box of colored pencils and opens it, gently touching each one as though he’s debating which one to start with. Finally, he picks up a bright, simple red, and he looks at Felicity questioningly.

 

“It’s all for you, honey,” she tells him. “You can draw anything you like.”

 

Oliver nods, gazing thoughtfully at the pencil in his hand.

 

When he looks up again, he doesn’t look at her. Instead he looks over his shoulder at Donna and he smiles.

 

“ _ FeLIcity,”  _ he says to her, nodding fervently, and Felicity bites her lip to keep a sudden rush of tears at bay.

 

“He’s saying ‘thank you,’” she explains, and when Donna’s eyes fill with tears, Felicity walks into the dining room and hugs her mother tightly. “And so am I,” she whispers.

 

* * *

 

After dinner, Donna heads back to her hotel room, and Oliver draws his first picture: a scene of himself hanging from the beam in the abandoned mine. It’s incredibly detailed, from the tiny scars he draws on his body down to the drops of blood dripping from his wrists.

 

Felicity watches him work, and while the image haunts her as the drawing comes to life, she finds herself in awe at the precision and care he puts into creating it. As she watches him use up an entire black marker coloring in the background, she would swear she can feel what he felt hanging from that beam. The pain and the loneliness and despair seem to flow out of him and onto the page, and she knows in her heart that this is going to help him.

 

When he’s done with his first drawing, he drops the black marker, massaging his wrist as he stares at it quietly. Oliver’s an incredible artist, something she never knew but which kind of makes sense, given his penchant for culinary creativity.

 

“I never knew you were an artist, Oliver,” Felicity says, smiling warmly at him from her perch on the couch, and Oliver looks up at her from the floor and shrugs. He stares at the drawing, and Felicity’s heart aches as he loses himself in his thoughts, drifting off to that place where she can’t follow him.

 

Felicity sits next to him on the floor, and she holds his right hand between both of hers as she rests her head against his shoulder.

 

“Looks  _ and _ talent,” Felicity teases him gently, squeezing his hand tightly and massaging his sore fingers. “How’d you get so lucky in the genetic lottery, Mr. Queen?”

 

Oliver blushes - honest to god  _ blushes _ \- and it’s one of the most endearing things she’s ever seen.

 

“ _ FeLIcity _ ,” he responds shyly, and her words have the desired effect. He turns toward her - and away from the drawing - and he smiles.

 

Felicity laughs and presses a quick kiss to his cheek.

 

“Will you draw me something?” she asks him, letting go of his hand so she can flip to the next blank page in the drawing pad.

 

“Felicity?” he asks, looking at her curiously.

 

“Anything you want to draw, honey. But make it something happy.”

 

Oliver looks down at the blank page, as though he’s considering what to draw, and when he finally looks up again he nods.

 

Felicity grins, kissing the top of his head as she stands. 

 

“Why don’t you get started and I’ll go take a quick shower. Is that alright?”

 

Oliver nods, picking up the same red pencil he’d picked up before dinner.

 

Half an hour later, Felicity comes back downstairs, freshly showered and holding her copy of “Goblet of Fire.”

 

“How’s it going?” she asks, moving toward his seat at the coffee table, but before she can get a peek at the drawing Oliver covers it with his arms.

 

“Felicity!” he tells her sharply, shaking his head, and she laughs.

 

“I get it. You don’t want me to see it until it’s done.” 

 

Oliver nods, and Felicity smiles at him warmly. 

 

“Okay. Well I’m going to climb into bed and read while you work on it. Will you let me know when it’s done?”

 

Oliver nods, leaning farther over the paper and using one of his hands to motion toward the bed as though he’s shooing her away.

 

As Felicity crawls under the covers with her book, her heart soars. He’s lighter now than he’s been since she rescued him twenty-two days ago - lighter and  _ happier _ , somehow - and she has a hard time concentrating on her book as she wonders what he’s drawing for her.

 

An hour later, she wakes to the feel of someone gently shaking her shoulder and whispering her name.

 

“Felicity?”

 

“Yeah, baby?” she asks, her voice hoarse from sleep. She sits up and opens her eyes to find Oliver perched next to her on the bed, clutching a piece of paper.

 

“Felicity,” he says simply, and he hands her the drawing.

 

Felicity takes it from him...and it takes everything within her not to cry.

 

_ “Oh, Oliver,” _ she whispers, gazing at the gift he’s given her.

 

It’s the night she rescued him.

 

Oliver hangs from the beam, smaller and more broken than he looked in the other picture he drew. But the background is colored in varying shades of yellow instead of black, the colors growing brighter and brighter the closer they get to….

 

Her.

 

Felicity doesn’t think she’s ever looked as beautiful as he’s made her in this drawing.

 

She’s wearing a pretty red dress and matching heels - nothing like what she wore that night. But on second glance, she notices that what she thought were her glasses is actually a black mask, and that what she thought was a coat is actually a flowing blue cape...and Felicity realizes with an ache in her chest that this is how Oliver saw her that night: beautiful, and glowing...and dressed like a superhero.

 

And Felicity’s heart flutters as she reads the words that Oliver has written above her head:

 

_ My Girl. My Hero. _

 

It doesn’t matter that he hasn’t said the words out loud - that they’re just wax inscribed on paper - because those four little words mean the world to her right now. The drawing falls out of her hands, landing softly on the bed, and Felicity throws her arms around Oliver’s shoulders and pulls him close to her, hugging him fiercely.

 

“I love it, Oliver,” she tells him, fighting hard to keep her voice from trembling. “And I love  _ you _ .”

 

Oliver hugs her back just as tightly, and she wonders if he’ll say something other than her name.

 

He doesn’t. 

 

And yet….

 

…when he buries his face against her neck and whispers a quiet “ _ Fe-LI-ci-ty”  _ against her skin, she’s not the least bit disappointed, because it’s enough.

 

_ It’s more than enough. _

 

Five minutes later - with the drawing taped reverently to the wall beside their bed - Felicity pulls Oliver under the covers, wraps her arms around him, rests his head against her chest...and quietly sings “My Girl” until they both fall asleep.

 

_...tbc... _

 


	7. You're Stronger Than You Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE BE AWARE THAT I ADDED SOME TAGS for this chapter/future chapters. Also, 5x17 gave me so many emotions to work off of this past week while I was editing this chapter and writing more. This chapter might hit pretty hard in the wake of last week’s episode, but it’s not all bad, I promise :)
> 
> And I apologize in advance if the spacing in this story ever looks wonky. I'm using Google Docs because my Microsoft Word has been buggy lately, and for some reason I keep having spacing issues. Doing my best to keep everything evenly spaced. :)

**< \--Chapter Six: You’re Stronger Than You Know-->**

 

The day after she buys Oliver his new art supplies, Donna returns to keep them both company. Oliver’s already started on his second drawing (someone’s using a blowtorch to burn his lower back) and she watches him for a time while Felicity gets some work done at the dining room table. When Oliver opens up some of the paints to start on a new drawing, Donna asks Oliver if there’s anything he wants to talk about.

 

Felicity knows what the answer will be, of course - and she suspects her mother does as well - but then Oliver puts the paints down to look at Donna. He stares at her long and hard, his brow furrowing, and Felicity puts her tablet down, because for a brief second she thinks that maybe Oliver  _ will _ decide to talk to her. But in the end Oliver shakes his head. Donna smiles at him, reaching over the coffee table to squeeze his hand. Oliver looks down at her hand on his, and he doesn’t pull away.

 

“It’s all right, hon. If you ever  _ do _ feel like talking, or maybe you just want to show me one of your drawings, just know that I’ll be here, okay?”

 

Oliver gazes at her quietly for a moment...and eventually, he nods. Donna smiles, then sits back in her chair and turns on the TV to watch her soaps. Oliver looks at her thoughtfully for a few more minutes before picking up his paints and starting on a new drawing.

 

From her spot at the kitchen table, Felicity smiles. Then she grabs her journal from where it’s sitting next to her pile of work papers and starts writing furiously.

 

* * *

 

On the second day, Felicity asks Oliver if she can draw something, too.

 

“Felicity,” Oliver agrees.

 

He gives her her own pad of paper, and he moves his carefully organized supplies over so she can have some space at the table. He readjusts the pillows behind his back and under his right leg. He prefers sitting on the floor in front of the couch, as it gives him better access to the coffee table he’s taken over as his art space. Felicity has done everything she can to make sure he stays as comfortable as possible, which includes plenty of pillows, a helping hand when he needs to get up, and routine walks around the loft for exercise.

 

Felicity draws a few pictures of how they spent their summer away together. She’s a terrible artist (“you always have been,” Donna will tell her later. “You were always much better with computers and numbers”) and she gets Oliver to smile when she shows him her weird stick figure drawings.

 

“We’re on the beach, Oliver. See? That’s you on a blanket.”

 

Oliver stares at it, tilting his head to the side and making the most adorable confused face she’s ever seen.

 

“Drama queen,” she teases him, and she rips the page out of her pad. She’s just started to crumple it up when Oliver reaches over and grabs her hands.

 

“FELICITY!” he admonishes, and she stops. She lays it out on the table and smoothes it out as best she can. She hands it out to him and Oliver takes it, smoothing it out a bit more. When he’s done she helps him to his feet, and he takes it over to the wall where she’s hung his drawing of her rescuing him.

 

“Felicity,” he says, holding her terrible drawing up against the wall next to his work of art.

 

Felicity smiles. “Okay, honey. Let me get the tape.”

 

And she tapes her drawing up next to Oliver’s and gets started on another one.

 

When Donna comes over an hour later, she gets her own pad, too, and her drawings turn out to be pretty good; not Oliver quality, but certainly better than her daughter’s.

 

Donna draws a few simple pictures to start with: a desert landscape in Vegas, a forest scene in Washington where she grew up, and a particularly beautiful image of the night sky (Felicity’s love of star-gazing and space came from her mother). Oliver smiles when she shows him the space drawing, and he holds out his hand.

 

“Felicity?” he asks her.

 

“What is it, Oliver?” Donna asks in confusion.

 

“Felicity!” Oliver says again, and he points to the wall where his and Felicity’s drawings are posted. 

 

“He wants to hang it up, Mom,” Felicity tells her, and she bites her lower lip, overcome with sudden emotion.

 

“Oh! Oh of course, sweetie, I’d love for you to hang it up,” Donna responds with a smile, and she holds out the drawing.

 

Oliver practically beams, and he takes the picture from her and uses the tape to put it up on the other side of Felicity’s. When Oliver sits back down with them, Felicity looks at her miserable drawing sitting between the two of theirs.

 

“I need to step up my game, huh?” she asks Oliver playfully, and Oliver just smiles and shakes his head.

 

“You like my terrible drawing?” she asks him, and Oliver nods enthusiastically.

 

“ **Felicity** ,” he says, and it’s a promise.

 

She can’t help it; she leans over and kisses him on the cheek.

 

“Thank you,” she says warmly, and Oliver blushes as he picks up a pencil to keep working on his drawing: a picture of a man cutting on him, using a scalpel to carefully and precisely reopen his scars. As Felicity and Donna start working on new drawings, Felicity thinks she might ask Oliver to draw her something happy tonight.

 

* * *

 

After a dinner of chinese takeout, Donna puts the finishing touches on something she’s been working on for a few hours.

  
“What do you think?” she asks, turning the pad toward Oliver so he can see it properly.

 

Felicity looks at it and frowns; it’s an image she doesn’t recognize. A man lies on the floor under a Christmas tree, and a woman - clearly her mother if the dress and shoes are any indication - is covering him with a blanket. A word bubble coming from her mouth is filled with three little words:  _ I love you _ .

 

Felicity has no idea what this is from...and yet, somehow, Oliver seems to get it. Tears rise in his eyes as he stares at it, and he flips to the next page in his art pad and starts drawing furiously. Felicity looks to her mother, but Donna just smiles knowingly and excuses herself, moving over to her chair and turning on the TV.

 

But Felicity watches Oliver draw.

 

She watches the whole thing.

 

An hour later, he’s drawn a picture of himself hugging Donna; the kitchen table next to them is set for a breakfast of blueberry pancakes, bacon and eggs, and coffee.

 

When he’s done, Oliver scoots over toward Donna and puts the pad in her lap. And Felicity watches, hand clutching tightly at the shawl wrapped around her shoulders, as her mother starts to cry.

 

“Oh,  _ honey. _ You remember?” she asks him shakily.

 

Oliver nods.

 

And when Donna kneels on the floor next to him and hugs him, Oliver hugs her back.

 

They hang the two drawings up on the wall with the others, putting Donna’s right above Oliver’s.

 

That night, while Oliver sleeps, Felicity takes a long, hot shower. She thinks about how her mother was able to reach Oliver, and she cries quietly where no one can hear her.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Oliver’s in a dark place. No matter how many happy but awful pictures Felicity draws, or how many pretty images of natures scenes that Donna paints, Oliver keeps drawing scenes of torture. 

 

He draws a picture of a man kicking him in the ribs while he lies on the ground, arms and legs tied to posts behind him so he’s spread out and vulnerable. A bubble next to the man’s head says “worthless.” 

 

Another shows a man breaking Oliver’s wrist under his boot. This man calls him “weak.”

 

In one simple yet powerful drawing, Oliver sits in a small puddle against a wall, his arms tied above his head and tears drying on his face. The word “shame” is written in bold letters across the top of the page. The question of whether his captors ever deprived him of a bathroom seems to be answered, and Felicity finds herself hating the drawing so much that she asks Oliver if she can get rid of it.

 

In the end, Oliver nods, tearing it out of his art pad. Felicity takes the foul piece of paper, rips it into tiny pieces, and flushes it down the garbage disposal in the kitchen sink. Oliver watches her quietly from his spot by the couch, and when she turns the disposal off he starts on a new drawing.

  
Felicity grips the edge of the sink hard enough to make her hands ache, and she wills herself not to scream.

 

Later that afternoon, while her mother’s out picking up dinner, she calls Lance and asks him if he can move any of the cameras that might be directly facing Oliver’s drawing area at the coffee table (which she’s come to think of as Oliver’s Spot). It’s only a matter of time before he draws something that could get him into real trouble - something Green Arrow related, for instance - and while Lance trusts his men implicitly, the last thing Felicity needs is for the cameras to catch Oliver drawing anything incriminating. Lance agrees to come over the next day and help her move things around.

 

The last picture he draws that day (one that explains why he was so hesitant of baths when he first got home) shows Oliver lying in a tub of water. Felicity watches silently as he draws this one, curious about the tub’s purpose. As he starts to color in the background with a black marker, she realizes that Oliver’s drawn himself floating on top of the water, not submerged in it, and it hits her.

 

“Sensory deprivation chamber,” she whispers, and Oliver simply nods as he finishes coloring in the background. He puts the marker down, rubbing at his right wrist. “Oh, Oliver. Did they put you in there a lot?”

 

Oliver looks at her and shrugs. 

 

“You probably lost track of time a lot there, didn’t you?” Felicity guesses, and Oliver nods, looking back at his drawing. Felicity shudders to think about what went through Oliver’s head during his time in the tub. If he spent a lot of time in total darkness and silence - with nothing but his own thoughts and memories and nightmares to keep him company - it’s no wonder he’s become so lost.

 

After Donna leaves that night - hugging her daughter fiercely before she goes - Felicity asks Oliver for a happy drawing. Oliver shakes his head, eyes wet with tears. It’s clear that he’s tired, and so she doesn’t push him. Instead she crawls under the covers with him, presses her chest to his back, and falls asleep to the rhythm of his heart beating with life.

 

* * *

 

On the fourth day, Donna comes over again, but neither of them try to draw, both still reeling from Oliver’s bad yesterday.

 

And that day turns out to be even worse.

 

After breakfast, Lance comes over to help Felicity rearrange the cameras in the living room, but Oliver doesn’t even notice he’s there. Instead, Oliver draws an image of someone shoving a needle into the back of his neck.

 

And then he draws horrible things.

 

Images of his loved ones dying and dead.

 

Images of himself drowning on the Queen’s Gambit.

 

Images of himself covered in blood and surrounded by dead bodies. 

 

One image of himself in his old Arrow suit surrounded by headless corpses prompts a conversation Felicity is in no way prepared for.

 

“Mom...there’s something I need to tell you. I probably should have told you a long time ago. Oliver is-”

 

“The Green Arrow,” Donna responds simply, watching Oliver color in the hood he’s just finished drawing. “I know.”

 

“ _ What?  _ Mom, when did you-”

 

“Oliver told me over a year ago; when you were in a coma.”

 

“I...but….” 

 

Felicity watches Oliver draw, biting his tongue in concentration.

 

After being shot by Damien Darhk’s men, Felicity had ended up in a coma for almost two weeks. The doctors weren’t sure if she’d ever wake up, but she had.

 

“You’re stronger than you know, Felicity,” Oliver had told her many times over those long months of recovery and dealing with paralysis.

 

“A few nights after the shooting, I told Oliver to go home and get some rest,” Donna tells her. “I found him asleep under the Christmas tree.”

 

Felicity nods, remembering the picture Oliver drew two nights ago.

 

“The next morning, he told me that he was the Green Arrow. He said that after what’d happened to you, he thought I had the right to know what my daughter was getting into by marrying him. He told me that you knew about him, and that you’d accepted it, but he never mentioned you were working with him, too. It wasn’t his secret to tell, and I understand that, but I always suspected there was something he wasn’t telling me. I didn’t find out for sure until your father….” Donna pauses, taking a long, deep breath as if to steel herself against the painful memories. “Until your father came back last year. At first I was terrified. Imagine finding out that your only child spends her nights putting her life in danger.”

 

“Mom, I-”

 

“But even though I might not like it, you’re an adult now, and this is  _ your _ life. This is  _ your _ choice, Felicity, and I could never stand in the way of that. Knowing that Oliver would always be there to look out for you made it all a little bit easier to take. That boy would die before he ever let anything happen to you.”

 

Felicity shakes her head, staring at her mother in awe.

 

“You’re taking this...a lot better than I thought you would,” Felicity laughs gently.

 

“I’ve always known there was more going on with you than you would tell me,” Donna admits. “You’ve never exactly been an open book, hon.”

 

“I know, Mom. And I’m...I’m sorry.”

 

Donna smiles at her and stands from her spot on the couch. She sits on the floor next to Felicity, wrapping her arms around her from the side.

 

“You don’t have to apologize to me, baby. It’s okay.”

 

“Mom….”

 

Felicity doesn’t know what to say; she feels suddenly overwhelmed. She turns to her mother and hugs her.

 

“I love you, sweetie,” Donna whispers against the top of her head, gently kissing her hair. Then she pulls away from her, looking over at Oliver. “I love both of you.” 

  
Felicity turns to Oliver, but he’s lost in his drawing, carefully using a red marker to color in a puddle of blood.

 

“Did you hear that Oliver?” Felicity asks gently, putting a hand on Oliver’s shoulder. He doesn’t even flinch, too far gone inside his own head. “Honey?”

 

Oliver just keeps drawing.

 

_ “Oh, Oliver,”  _ Felicity whispers. She leans over and places a gentle kiss against his brow. He pauses, just for a second, then moves on to color in another spot of red.

 

Donna sighs.

 

“How about some dinner?” she suggests, squeezing Felicity’s shoulder tightly before she stands. “There’s a nice Vietnamese place near my hotel I’ve been dying to try.”

 

* * *

 

Oliver won’t eat that night, no matter how many times Felicity and her mother ask him to. When Felicity decides to try her loud voice, it’s like he doesn’t even hear her.

 

Donna leaves early, telling Felicity she’ll be back in the morning.

 

“It’s just a bad day, hon,” Donna assures her. “He’s going to have those.”

 

“I know,” Felicity responds, watching Oliver tear a piece of paper out of his art pad, crumple it into a ball, and throw it in the trashcan with a grunt of disapproval. He stares at the next blank page for a few awhile before picking up an ugly gray pencil. “That doesn’t make it any easier to see him like this.”

 

“I know, baby. I know.”

  
Donna hugs her tight before leaving, and when she’s gone, Felicity takes her journal to the kitchen table and tries to write for awhile. Over the past few weeks, she’s begun using her journal not just as a way to write through her own thoughts, but as a way to track Oliver’s progress. The notebook she’s using now is the third one she’s written in since she rescued him.

 

She must fall asleep at some point, because when she opens her eyes later it’s after midnight.

 

She looks around the room, wondering what woke her, when she hears a quiet whimpering coming from Oliver’s spot on the living room floor.

 

“Oliver? What’s wrong, honey?”

 

Felicity stands from the table and moves toward him slowly. She stops next to him, noting the look of heartbreak and horror in his eyes, and as his body starts to tremble she looks at what he’s drawn.

 

It’s an image of Oliver kneeling in front of a grave, head in his hands, and she can just make out tiny tears falling to the grass at his feet.

 

The tombstone has her name on it.

 

Felicity doesn’t think; she just moves. She rips the drawing out of his pad without asking, then crumples it into a ball and flings it across the room. Oliver watches her, tears streaming silently down his face now, and Felicity kneels down next to him and wraps her arms around him.

 

“Will you draw me something happy?” she begs him, her voice nothing more than a whisper.

 

Oliver whines, shaking his head against her shoulder as he starts to sob, his body trembling with the force of his anguish.

 

“It’s okay, it’s okay, baby. I’m here. I’m right here.”

 

Felicity holds him close that night, whispering the words “it’s okay” over and over and over so he can understand it. After an hour of gently rocking him back and forth, his muscles are tense and he still can’t stop shaking. She gives him sleeping pills for the first time in two weeks and sings “Hey Jude” until they both fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

On the fifth day, her mother comes over again. She seems quiet and withdrawn, and she watches her morning soaps without comment.

 

After lunch, Donna makes two cups of calming tea and pulls Felicity out onto the balcony, where she tells her she’s decided to spend the rest of the day Quentin. 

 

“Will you come back?” Felicity asks, and her voice trembles against her will, because she feels like a little girl again, terrified that her mother’s giving up and she’s going to leave her.

 

“Oh, baby, of course I will,” Donna assures her, kissing her on the forehead, and Felicity sighs, putting her hands on her mother’s shoulders to steady herself. “It’s just that...well, Quentin’s taking Oliver’s situation harder than he’ll admit.”

 

Felicity wonders briefly if Donna’s really talking about herself and she’s just using Lance for an excuse, but it doesn’t really matter. Felicity heads back inside, sipping carefully at her tea as her mother promises Oliver that she’ll be back the next day, then leaves.

 

That night, Oliver finishes the drawing that will become her least favorite to date.

 

Oliver kneels on the floor of his prison, head hanging low, and Felicity stands over him, a finger pointing down at him accusingly. A speech bubble next to her head contains just one word.

 

_ Monster. _

 

“ **No** ,” Felicity bites out when she sees it, and she tears the page out of his pad and rips it in half. Oliver looks taken aback by her rage, but she’s not done yet.

 

She holds the two halves of paper out to him. 

 

“Rip it, Oliver,” she tells him, and Oliver doesn’t hesitate. He rips the two halves in half again, and Felicity takes the four pieces from him and rips them once more. Then she hands him some of the pieces, and together they tear the damn thing to shreds. When they’re done, Felicity grabs his hand and leads him onto the balcony, where they scatter the drawing into the night.

 

Felicity holds Oliver’s hand tightly as they watch the pieces fly away on the wind, drifting out over the Star City skyline: the same skyline Oliver has sacrificed so much to protect.

 

“You are  _ not _ a monster, Oliver Queen. You are a  _ hero _ . Don’t you  _ dare _ let anyone ever tell you any different...especially not me.”

 

* * *

 

After that night, things begin to look up a bit. Oliver continues to draw things that happened to him during his kidnapping and the five years he was away (what Felicity calls the “bad things”) but he draws “happy things,” too; mostly things that have happened to him since he was rescued. He draws images of himself and Donna sitting in front of the TV watching soaps. Images of himself and Felicity just sleeping or resting together on the couch. Images of Felicity drawing with him or reading to him. One particularly amusing drawing of her reading to him from  _ Harry Potter _ while wearing what looks like a wizard hat prompts her to work more reading time into their daily routine.

 

Oliver seems to benefit from the art therapy, and after just a week Felicity can already see small changes in him. Drawing gives him something to occupy his mind, and it provides him with an outlet to work through some of the pain and loneliness brought on by his torture. It also gives him an excuse to get closer not just to her, but to Donna as well.

 

Felicity keeps every drawing that Oliver creates, aside from a few rare exceptions - those drawings that are just too painful for her to look at, or the ones she doesn’t want him to dwell on. The “bad drawings” are kept in his art pads, while the “happy drawings” are used to decorate the wall above their bed. Oliver doesn’t always finish everything he starts. He throws away a lot of aborted attempts, either because he’s not happy with how they look or because the memories they dredge up are just too painful for him to work through.

 

On the twelfth day of his art therapy - almost five weeks after she brought him home - he draws a picture of John and Lyla’s wedding. It shows the happy couple moving slowly on the dance floor while Oliver stands off to the side and smiles longingly at them.

 

The image brings tears to her eyes, and she calls Digg and asks him to pay Oliver a visit.

 

When John comes by later that night with Big Belly Burger for dinner, she shows him the picture and he cries. Oliver looks uncomfortable, but John shakes his head and assures Oliver that he loves the drawing. Then Oliver smiles and does something neither of them were expecting: he reaches out and pulls John into a hug.

  
Diggle smiles as he hugs his brother back, and Felicity takes the drawing from him and hangs it up on the wall with the rest of Oliver’s best.

 

After dinner, Diggle joins Oliver and Felicity in their drawing. Digg turns out to be a terrible artist, too, but that doesn’t stop him from drawing an (admittedly horrible) rendition of the three of them sitting around a table toasting their defeat of the Dodger. Felicity doesn’t care in the slightest that her gold dress looks more like a gold blob, or that he’s drawn them all as stick figures holding rectangles for drinks and sitting around a giant block for a table. Digg’s lack of artistic ability doesn’t seem to bother Oliver, either. When Diggle’s done with the drawing he asks Oliver if it’s good enough to make the wall, and Oliver smiles.

 

**“Felicity,”** he promises, nodding vehemently, and as Oliver takes the drawing and hangs it on the wall Felicity assures John of Oliver’s sincerity.

 

As Oliver takes a bath that night, Felicity talks to John about Oliver’s progress.

 

“I think the drawing is really helping Oliver,” she tells him. “My mother knew what she was talking about.”

 

John nods in agreement, flipping quietly through one of Oliver’s completed pads.

 

“He’s been through so much,” John remarks quietly, stopping on the drawing of someone jamming a needle into Oliver’s neck. “His drawings tell us a lot, but there’s only so much we can really understand about what he’s been through.”

 

“I know,” Felicity agrees, wincing as John pauses on a particularly painful drawing of Oliver holding a bloody sword and surrounded by headless bodies. “Sometimes I can’t tell if what he’s drawing is real, or if they’re false memories caused by whatever they injected him with.”

 

“I don’t think we’ll ever know for sure,” John replies wistfully, grimacing at an image of Oliver dressed as the Green Arrow, lying dead in a pool of his own blood.

 

Felicity sighs. As John continues looking through the pad, Felicity walks over to the wall above her bed. She gazes thoughtfully at all the happy moments that Oliver has drawn. Some things she remembers, some things she doesn’t. Some are memories she shares with Oliver, and some are memories he shares with others or just himself.

 

And then there’s one....

 

Felicity stops at a drawing of her holding a little blonde baby in her arms. The baby has a tiny pink bow in her hair and she’s wrapped in a dark green blanket. Oliver has one arm wrapped around Felicity’s shoulder, and he’s bending over her to wiggle his finger in front of the baby’s face. They’re both standing in front of a house that looks a bit like their old house in Ivy Town, but not quite the same. She suspects he’s drawn it vaguely on purpose; it doesn’t matter where they live so long as they’re together.

 

It’s not a memory, but a dream. It’s something she knows he’s always wanted...and something she hopes they can still have someday.

 

She smiles wistfully, stepping aside when John moves to stand next to her.

 

“These are important, John,” she tells him, reaching out to the touch the drawing. “I can feel it.”

 

“You’re right,” he agrees with her. He glances over to the empty wall across from the windows, as though he’s thinking about all the drawings that might one day fill it up. “Good days and bad days are to be expected. He’s not going to bounce back right away, but I think…” He pauses for a time, then turns back to her and shakes his head. “No, I  _ know _ that this is helping him.”

 

Tears fall quietly down Felicity’s cheeks, and she doesn’t bother trying to stop them. She stares longingly at the drawing of her little family; the drawing she hopes might one day depict her future.

 

“It’s going to take a lot of care, and time...and a  _ ton  _ of art supplies,” Felicity jokes, and Diggle laughs in agreement. “But we’re going to get him back, John. I feel it in my bones.”

 

“Me, too, Felicity,” Digg assures her, and he pulls her into a tight hug. “Me, too.”

 

* * *

 

Five weeks after bringing Oliver home, Felicity’s mother tells her she needs to spend some time outside of the loft.

 

“You’re running yourself ragged, honey.”

 

“Mom, I’m fine, really,” Felicity insists as she puts away the groceries Donna just brought in.

 

“You’re not  _ ‘fine,’  _ Felicity. I’m your mother, I know what I’m talking about.”

 

“Mom, please,” Felicity begs, setting down a carton of milk to glare at her mother.

 

“Felicity, you’re not getting any exercise or fresh air, and your skin hasn’t seen the sun in a month.”

 

“Oh my god,” Felicity mutters under her breath, returning to the groceries in order to pointedly ignore what Donna is saying.

 

“Honey, you’ve gained at least five pounds since I got here-”

 

“How could you possibly know that?” Felicity asks incredulously, pulling her head out of the fridge. 

 

Unfortunately, she knows her mother’s right. A steady diet of coffee and fast food and very little exercise  _ has _ caused her to put on weight, and if she’s honest with herself, she’s been feeling sluggish and tired for a few weeks now.

 

“You’re spending too much time inside, sweetie. Your skin’s so pale I can see through you.”

 

“Mom, you’re being ridiculous,” Felicity counters, even as she realizes that her mother may have a point. Well, not about the see-through skin, anyway, but the rest of it….

 

“You need to get out more, hon. Go see a movie, buy yourself some new clothes or a new computer thingie or whatever it is you like to spend your money on,” Donna suggests.

 

“‘A new computer thingie?’” Felicity asks, and she smiles despite herself. Her mother means well, but…. “Mom, I can’t leave Oliver here alone. You know that.”

 

“That’s not what I’m suggesting, Felicity. You don’t think I can take care of him by myself?”

 

“You...you want to stay with him? Alone?” Felicity asks carefully, gazing at her mother like she doesn't quite recognize her.

 

“I want you to take care of yourself, baby,” Donna responds, and she takes Felicity’s hands in hers and squeezes them tightly. “You can’t take care of Oliver if you’re not taking care of yourself, too.”

 

“I...I….” Felicity stammers, at a loss for words. Can she really leave Oliver here alone with her mother?

 

“I’m not saying you need to go away for days on end; just a few hours here and there. Maybe a few hours at work to start with, or a trip to the mall or the park. I’ll be here with Oliver the whole time.”

 

Felicity stares down at her mother’s hands wrapped tightly around hers. She can’t deny that she’s been climbing the walls recently. Spending so much time in her apartment, breathing what fresh air she can get from her balcony, not really have an opportunity to exercise her body or spend a day at work like she’s used to - it’s all taken a toll on her, and if she’s completely honest, she really  _ does _ miss little things like exercise and shopping and fresh air.

 

...But can she really do this?

 

Sensing her hesitation, Donna squeezes her hands again.

 

“If it makes you feel better, I can ask Quentin to stop in from time to time. He’s already offered to help in any way he can. Or you can ask Mr. Diggle to help. I’m sure he’d be more than willing to spend time with Oliver.”

 

“Mom, I don’t-”

 

“Will you at least think about it, hon? For me? Or if not for me, then for Oliver? He loves you, sweetie, and he’d want you to be strong and healthy, too, wouldn’t he?”

 

Felicity looks over at Oliver, fast asleep on the couch. He’s clutching a pillow tight to his chest, and she notices that he’s trembling slightly, like he’s in the throes of a nightmare.

 

“I...I’ll think about it, Mom,” she offers, and it’s the best she can do for now.

 

“Okay, baby,” Donna nods, smiling softly at her. “Thank you.” 

 

She kisses Felicity gently on the cheek, and Felicity heads to the couch to soothe Oliver.

 

* * *

 

In the end, Donna pulls out the big guns.

 

She calls Diggle herself.

 

“I think your mother’s right, Felicity,” John tells her, talking quietly to her in the hallway outside the loft so they don’t disturb Oliver.

 

“I can’t believe my mother called you,” Felicity scoffs, shaking her head as she paces in front of John, arms crossed over her chest. “Wait, scratch that, I can. She and Oliver used to team up on me all the time. It figures she’d ask you to do the same.”

 

“No on is ‘teaming up on you,’ Felicity. We’re on your side and you know it.”

 

Felicity notes the edge of hurt in her friend’s tone, and it gives her pause.

 

“I’m sorry, John,” she apologizes, and she stops pacing. “It’s just that...I don’t know if I can leave him.”

 

“Because Oliver needs you...or because you need him?” Diggle asks sagely.

 

Felicity sighs deeply, finally uncrossing her arms.

 

“Both, I guess,” she admits grudgingly.

 

Digg nods knowingly, and it should irritate her that John Diggle is right as usual, but it doesn’t. Instead, her heart swells with love for the man she thinks of as an older brother.

 

“Felicity...Oliver’s never going to get used to other people again if he doesn’t learn to deal with other people without you around as a buffer...and there can’t be a return to normal for him if you can’t find one for yourself.”

 

He makes sense, and of course he does because he’s John Diggle. He’s always been the compass of Team Arrow; the Yoda to Oliver’s Skywalker.

 

Felicity takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and then silently weighs her options. Digg waits patiently while she thinks.

 

Finally, Felicity breaks the silence so she can think out loud.

 

“Oliver trusts my mother, more than I ever thought he would. Maybe...maybe they were closer than I realized,” she muses. “Maybe his captors didn’t know that, either. Maybe they couldn’t torture away his memories of her because they didn’t know she was a part of his life.”

 

“Seems reasonable,” John agrees.

 

“My mother cares about him, I know she does. She...I think she sees him as the son she never had.”

 

John nods in agreement….

 

And Felicity comes to a decision.

 

“I’ll start small. Every other day, just for a few hours; a few hours at work, a few hours at the park or the mall. Maybe I’ll even try that new spa that just opened downtown.”

 

Diggle smiles. “Sounds like a plan.”

 

Felicity nods, and she can’t deny that the thought of finally spending some time outside of her apartment makes her happy. But then she thinks of Oliver - stuck inside the loft because he’s too afraid to leave, and because the media vultures would be tripping over themselves for a story -  and she feels instantly guilty.

 

Diggle sighs. “I know exactly what’s going on in your head, Felicity, and you can’t let yourself think like that.”

  
“What are you talking about?” Felicity questions, though she already knows the answer.

 

“You feel guilty about leaving Oliver here,” John tells her, and she doesn’t even try to contradict him. “But you can’t let yourself think about that. Your mother’s right. You can’t take care of Oliver if you aren’t taking care of yourself.”

 

Felicity groans in irritation. “How do you do that? How do you always know exactly what I need to hear?”

 

Digg smirks. “Working with Oliver Queen for five years has given me a lot of practice,” he answers simply.

 

Felicity shakes her head. 

 

“Okay, John. You’re always right and I should know better than to question you,” she teases.

 

“Damn straight,” Diggle answers, crossing his arms over his chest and smiling with smug satisfaction.

 

Felicity laughs, smacking her friend lightly on the arm before growing serious once more.

 

“There’s just one problem, John. How am I going to explain this to Oliver?”

 

* * *

 

In the end, while it still takes a fair bit of convincing on her part, it takes far less than she thought it would.

 

Oliver’s hesitant at first - like she knew he would be - but she explains to him that she won’t be gone for long: no more than five hours every other day. She also explains to him that Donna will be with him the whole time, and that John will stop in every once in awhile, too, and that seems to perk him up a bit. 

 

Finally, she explains to him that she needs some time for herself.

 

“I don’t want to leave you, Oliver. I hope you understand that. I love you, and I want what’s best for you. And I think...I think this is what’s best for  _ both _ of us. We can try it for a few days and then see how you feel. Would that be okay?”

 

Oliver stares at her long and hard, pondering everything she’s said. Felicity waits patiently.

 

And then, finally, Oliver nods.

 

“Felicity,” he agrees.

 

Felicity smiles at him and kisses him gently on the forehead. 

 

“Thank you for being so understanding, honey.”

 

_ “Fe-LI-ci-ty,”  _ Oliver responds simply, and Felicity throws her arms around him and hugs him.

 

“I love you, too.”

* * *

 

 

The next day, Felicity and Lance help Donna move her things into the spare bedroom in the loft. When they’re done, Felicity reacquaints Oliver with Quentin Lance.

 

“You remember Lance, don’t you, sweetie? You and he were...well, you became very good friends last summer,” she supplies. She always thought Oliver respected hi m as a father, and that Lance saw him as a son, but she doesn’t want to qualify their relationship for them.

 

Oliver stares long and hard at Quentin - long enough to make her nervous - but in the end he nods his head and says, “Felicity.”

 

Felicity smiles at Lance and nods, silently encouraging him to try talking to Oliver the way she suggested.

 

“I, uh...I see you like drawing,” Lance says, pointing at the pictures on the wall, and Oliver nods, smiling happily at his w ork. “Will you show me your favorites?”

 

And Felicity watches happily as Oliver and Quentin spend the afternoon slowly bonding. Oliver shows Lance his favorite drawings, and while Lance doesn’t feature in any of them, he seems happy to look at them regardless.

 

After eating a lunch of sandwiches that Lance brought over from his favorite deli, Felicity suggests they all sit at the kitchen table and draw for awhile. Lance turns out to be a terrific artist - almost as good as Oliver - and when he’s done with his first drawing, Donna whistles in appreciation.

 

“I didn’t know you were such a good artist, Quentin,” she says, batting her lashes at him, and Felicity has to bite her tongue to keep from laughing when Lance actually blushes at the compliment.

 

“Felicity,” Oliver mutters under his breath. Felicity glances over just in time to see Oliver stick his tongue out o f his mouth in mock disgust before continuing with his own drawing, and this time she can’t help but laugh. Lance and her mother look at her in confusion, and Felicity just shakes her head.

 

“Inside joke,” she deadpans, and soon everyone is laughing. Even Oliver joins them, and his laughter is like music to Felicity’s ears because she can’t remember the last time she heard it.

 

When the laughter dies down, Lance turns the paper around to show Oliver what he’s drawn.

 

“It’s my family,” Lance explains. “My girls....”

 

He points first at the two figures who stand on either side of him: Laurel and Sara. Both girls are dressed in their Canary costumes - Sara in white and Laurel in black - and both of them have a large, brilliant set of wings spread out behind them. They’re strong and beautiful and they look just like their namesakes.

 

Then her eyes land on the fourth figure in Lance’s drawing, and her breath catches in her throat.

 

“And...well, I think you know who this guy is,” Lance says, pointing at the figure standing just behind him, dressed in a green suit with a hood pulled down over his eyes.

 

_ “Oh, Quentin,” _ Donna whispers, and as her mother cries silently Felicity fights back her own tears...because over the top of Oliver’s head Quentin Lance has written the words,  _ I love you, son. _

 

“Oliver,” Felicity gasps, and she looks quietly at him, trying to gauge his reaction.

 

Oliver watches Lance thoughtfully, and when tears rise in the older man’s eyes Felicity reaches across the table and grabs her mother’s hand to keep herself from crying, too.

 

“Oliver, you...you had faith in me when I couldn’t have any faith in myself,” Lance says. “You helped me out a lot last summer, and I want to return the favor. You’re like a son to me, Oliver...one I’m damn proud of. Will you let me help you?”

 

Felicity stares back and forth between the two men, hardly daring to believe what she’s seeing. Lance has always been a gruff, quiet man, and to see him talking so openly with Oliver about how he feels impresses on her just how important his relationship with Oliver really is.

 

Felicity lets go of her mother’s hand and turns sideways to face Oliver, smiling at him tearfully as she grabs his hands in hers. Oliver turns to her slowly.

 

“Lance wants to spend some time with you on the days when I’m away. He’ll be looking after you along with my mother. He wants to help you get better, too. How does that sound, honey?”

 

Oliver smiles at her and nods.

 

“Felicity,” he answers affirmatively, and he turns back to Lance and nods again. “Felicity.”

 

Quentin smiles, blinking back his tears. “I assume that means ‘yes’?” he asks jokingly, and Felicity laughs and assures him that it does.

 

Later that night, after Lance has left and Donna’s gone off to sleep, Oliver and Felicity climb into bed. Oliver sighs as he snuggles his face against her chest, and Felicity smiles and kisses him softly on top of his head.

 

“Lance cares about you, honey. Just like my mother.” She kisses him again. “And John. And Thea.” She kisses him again and again, once for each name she mentions: Roy, Sara, Barry, Curtis, the whole team. She lists everyone who’s passed away that loved him, too: Shado, Laurel, Tommy, his mother, and his father.

 

“And then there’s  _ me _ ,” she says, kissing him on top of his head one last time and hugging him tighter.

 

She doesn’t let go.

 

Instead, she whispers the rest against his temple, right by his ear so she knows he can hear her.

 

“You are so loved, Oliver Queen. And I’m going to remind you of that every day for the rest of our lives. For better or worse.”

__

_...tbc... _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My headcanon has always been that Felicity spent some time in a coma after being shot. It's something I previously dealt with in my short story "Heroes and Hope" and it's reflected again in this story. Also, the scenes that Oliver and Donna draw are a reference to a short story I wrote called "Family Doesn’t End with Blood," which takes place during Felicity’s time in a coma. You don't have to read that to understand anything in this chapter, but it might give you a better idea of the relationship between my versions of Oliver and Donna in this story (ie how they became close).


	8. “Fe-LI-ci-ty” Means “I Love You”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains spoilers for the fifth Harry Potter book “Order of the Phoenix,” so if you’re one of the two people in the world who hasn’t read it yet and wants to remain unspoiled, feel free to skip that section. ;)
> 
> Also, for everyone asking about Thea: I haven’t forgotten about her. She will be back in the next chapter. I promise. :)

**< \--Chapter Seven: “Fe-LI-ci-ty” Means “I Love You”--> **

The next morning, Felicity spends nearly twenty minutes checking and double checking everything: making sure her mother knows what foods Oliver likes to eat, reminding her where she can find Oliver’s pills and the first aid kit is (just in case), and programming Dr. Schwartz’s number into her mother’s phone.

“We’ll be fine, sweetie. Don’t worry,” Donna assures her.

Felicity takes a deep breath to steady herself. She's doing the right thing; she knows she is. 

“Don’t hesitate to call me if you need to.  I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

“Honey, I love you, but I don’t want to see your face for at  _ least  _ four hours.”

“Mom-”

“ _ Felicity _ .” Donna puts her hands on her daughter's shoulders, squeezing them firmly. “We’re going to be  _ fine _ .”

Felicity looks over at Oliver, who’s sitting at the kitchen table, sipping on a mug of warm milk and watching them quietly. Felicity walks over to him and rests a hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll be back in a few hours, Oliver. Will you be okay while I’m gone?”

Oliver puts his mug down and looks over at Donna, who smiles at him warmly and nods.

Oliver turns back to Felicity and gently rests his hand on top of hers.

“Felicity,” Oliver says with a nod. She smiles lovingly at him, turning her hand in his so she can squeeze his fingers tightly, and the feel of him squeezing back helps ground her; just like it always has. Then she bends down and kisses the top of his head.

“Okay, honey. You have fun with my mom. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Oliver nods, drinking more of the milk her mother made for him, and Felicity’s heart soars with hope.

And so Felicity leaves Oliver and her mother alone around noon, heading into Smoak Technologies. She spends hours with Curtis, looking over everything he’s done in her absence and helping him deal with all the issues she hasn’t been able to manage from home.

When Curtis brings her a cup of coffee, Felicity takes a long, deep sip and sighs heavily. It feels great to be doing something for her little company - which in turn is starting to do good for others - and it feels even better to get out of the loft for a time.

She loses herself in their latest project, debating a walk through the park before she heads back home. She gets so lost in her work that she eventually loses track of time. When Curtis nudges her shoulder, asking her when she plans to head back, Felicity realizes with a shock that it’s already 4:30.

“Oh, god,” Felicity moans. She tosses back the rest of her coffee and starts throwing things in her purse, looking around for her coat. “I should have been home half an hour ago.”

“Oliver will be fine. Your mother’s with him,” Curtis assures her, handing her her coat.

“I lost track of time, Curtis. I….”

And Felicity realizes with a stab of guilt that it hadn’t just been nice to get out of the loft. It had been nice to be alone; to not feel like she had to constantly be watching someone.

It had been nice to spend some time away from Oliver.

Felicity groans, putting on her coat. “I’m a terrible person,” she mutters, shoving a few folders and her tablet into her work bag.

“There’s no way that’s true,” Curtis says, handing her her cell phone. 

“Yes, yes it is,” Felicity says, throwing her work bag and purse over her shoulder.

“Felicity...you’re not a bad person because you enjoyed yourself today.”

“Curtis-”

“You’re still a human being, Felicity. You have your own needs and desires, and they don’t all have to revolve around Oliver; they  _ shouldn’t _ . You’re allowed to want something for yourself.”

Felicity shakes her head vehemently. “You don’t understand. It felt nice to not...to not have to watch him all day - to have some time to myself -  _ but who thinks like that? _ Who thinks about themself when someone they love is in so much pain?”

“Someone who only has so much of themself to give.” Curtis shakes his head, smiling sadly. “Your mom was right, Felicity. You need to take some time for yourself. You’re no good to Oliver if you’re running on empty.”

“But they _broke him_ , Curtis!” Felicity answers shrilly, and she doesn’t bother trying to mask the pain in her voice or stop the tears of frustration streaming down her face. “ _Oliver_ _Queen_. The man who’s been to hell and back over and over. They abused him and shamed him and pumped him full of drugs that messed with his mind so badly that he can’t even _speak_ anymore.” Her chest grows tighter and tighter as she talks, but she finds that she can’t stop. “They took the strongest man I have ever known and they broke him. He needs me, and here I am sitting in my own office feeling grateful that I was able to get away from him.  Who does that? Oh, god, _who does that?_ ”

She’s hyperventilating now, and Curtis closes the distance between them, taking her bags off her shoulder and dropping them to the floor.

“Breathe, honey, just breathe,” Curtis says gently, putting his hands on her shoulders and squeezing them firmly. “You're okay.”

Felicity chokes back a sob, closing her eyes and focusing on the feel of Curtis’ strong hands on her shoulders. She takes a deep breath in, holds it for three seconds, then lets it out for three more. She goes through her breathing exercises until the band across her chest loosens and she no longer feels like she’s gasping for air. Curtis brings her a cup of water, and she drinks it gratefully.

“Thank you,” Felicity says, handing him back the empty cup when she’s done.

Curtis takes it from her with a nod before sighing deeply.

“Felicity…I haven't known Oliver Queen for very long, but there are two things I know beyond the shadow of a doubt. Number one: Oliver is  _ strong _ ; he wouldn't have lived through two months of torture if he wasn't. And number two: that man loves you more than  _ anything. _ He'll find his way back to you, I'm sure of it. And besides…if there's anyone who has the strength to save him it's Felicity Smoak.”

Felicity smiles warmly at Curtis, then pulls him into a tight hug. “Thank you, Curtis. You're a good man, and an even better friend.”

“So are you. A good friend, obviously, not a good man because...well, you know.” Curtis pulls away and then gestures to all of her. “Woman.“

Felicity laughs at just how alike she and Curtis are. She made a good choice bringing him onto the team: both Team Arrow and her up-and-coming company. “I can't thank you enough for keeping this place running, Curtis. I owe you one.”

He smiles at her. “Just help him get better and we'll call it even.”

“Okay,” she responds. She throws her bags over her shoulder again, and she's on her way out the door when she hears her friend say, “Oliver's lucky to have you.”

Felicity smiles as she whispers, “ _ I'm  _ the lucky one.”

* * *

She gets home at five o’clock - an hour later than she’d planned to - and she finds her mother and Oliver sitting on the couch watching an old black-and-white movie on TV.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Felicity says, dropping her purse and work bag by the door as she moves quickly toward Oliver. “I lost track of time.”

“Felicity!” Oliver responds, but he doesn’t sound angry or upset. He smiles at her fondly, like he’s just happy to see her, and Felicity lets out a deep sigh of relief as she sits next to him on the couch and hugs him tight.

“Hey, baby. Did you have a good time today?” she asks as she pulls away from him.

Oliver nods, and he grabs his art pad off the coffee table, showing her all the drawings he’s done that day.

All of them are “Happy Drawings.”

Felicity smiles. “I’m glad you’re doing okay, Oliver. Do you forgive me for getting home late?”

Oliver nods. “ _ Fe-LI-ci-ty,”  _ he says - as though it’s as simple as “I love you” - and Felicity’s filled with an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

“Just when I think I can’t love you any more,” she whispers fondly, and she places a tender kiss against his brow. “I think I’ll stay home tomorrow, honey. How does that sound?”

Oliver nods, then turns back to the movie. Felicity relaxes next to him on the couch, resting her head on his shoulder. Oliver wraps his arm around her and pulls her closer, and it feels so much like old times that it makes her heart ache.

Ten minutes later, she feels her eyelids starting to droop.

“Will you draw me something happy tonight, Oliver?” she mumbles sleepily, curling closer against his side. Oliver rests his head on top of hers and mutters a soft “Felicity” in assent.

Later that night, Felicity tapes a new drawing to the wall: an image of her asleep in Oliver’s embrace. She looks small in his arms, and he’s gazing down at her like she’s his whole world. Above the image, Oliver’s simply written, “My Felicity.”

It’s easily one of her favorites.

* * *

 

The next day, Felicity stays home with Oliver - partially because she wants to and partially because she still feels guilty about enjoying her time away so much.

“Will you be okay if I go out again tomorrow?” she asks him later that night.

Oliver nods right away.

“Good,” Felicity responds with a soft sigh, “because truth be told I could use some new clothes...and maybe a bit of exercise.” She pokes her stomach, smiling at him playfully. “All this sitting around is making me fat,” she jokes, and Oliver shakes his head vehemently.

“Felicity!” he admonishes her, and he puts his hand on her stomach, rubbing it gently. Felicity gasps at the sensation, and a feeling of warmth spreads throughout her body. His hand wanders lower, caressing her hip, and Felicity bites her lower lip as the warmth settles in her abdomen. She knows he’s unaware of what he’s doing to her - of just what kinds of memories his touch is bringing up for her - and she puts her hand on his to stop his movements.

“So I’m not fat?” she asks carefully, gripping his hand in hers and squeezing it tightly.

Oliver shakes his head, and he tugs on her hand as he moves to stand. Felicity nods, then uses both of her hands to help him up off the couch. He limps over to the wall of art above their bed and his gaze travels over the pictures, like he’s looking for just the right one. He finally finds what he’s searching for over the fireplace mantel. 

He points to a drawing of Felicity in a wedding dress: an image of her from the ceremony they staged to catch Cupid. Oliver’s drawn her the way he saw her that night: smiling, and radiant...and beautiful. Thoughts of that night used to fill her with regret, but looking at it now - seeing herself through the eyes of the one who loves her - makes her smile despite everything. 

“ _ FeLIcity,”  _ Oliver says with a sigh, and she thinks she gets it.

“I look beautiful,” she whispers. “Do you think I’m beautiful, Oliver?” she asks him carefully, and her heart leaps into her throat when he nods, whispering her name in affirmation.

“Oh, honey,” Felicity sighs, and she pulls him into a tight hug. “I think you’re beautiful, too.”

Oliver shakes his head against her shoulder, and she pulls away from him in confusion.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?”

“Felicity!” he says firmly, frowning at her, and she knows he doesn’t agree with her.

“But I  _ do _ think you’re beautiful, Oliver.”

Oliver shakes his head again. “ _ Felicity…”  _ he moans, and she sighs. Then an idea comes to her.

“Come on, honey,” she whispers. “Let me show you.” 

Then she grabs his hand and leads him into the bathroom.

“See?” she says when they’re standing next to each other in front of the mirror. “Beautiful.”

Oliver shakes his head, running his hand through his hair and pointing out the spots of gray.

“Felicity.”

She shakes her head.

“Beautiful,” she tells him, standing on the tips of her toes and kissing the top of his head, running her fingers through his hair. “You’ve been through so much, Oliver, but you’ve never stopped fighting.”

Oliver sighs, then lifts his left arm, showing her the splint. He points down at his right leg in its cast.

“Felicity.”

She shakes her head again, kissing his wrist gently before bending down and kissing the skin above his knee. She stands back up and smiles fondly at him.

“Beautiful. You’re healing, honey.”

Oliver watches her carefully, eyes growing wet with unshed tears.

“Felicity!” he whispers, pointing down at his bare stomach, where he’s grown the very beginnings of a soft belly.

Felicity thinks back on how frail and thin he was when she first brought him home, and tears spring to her eyes as she bends down and kisses his stomach.

“Beautiful,” she whispers against his skin. She places a hand on his stomach, caressing his skin gently as she stands once more. “You’re getting stronger every day, Oliver.”

His tears are falling freely now, and he quickly yet methodically points to all the scars running down the front of his body.

_ “Felicityyy,”  _ he moans, stopping at the fresh new scar on his inner thigh. 

Felicity shakes her head and kisses the gash along his thigh. Oliver trembles under her touch, but she doesn’t stop there. She doesn’t stop until she’s kissed every single scar she finds on his torso. When she’s done, she kisses the Bratva tattoo on his chest.

“ _ Beautiful,” _ she sighs, resting her cheek over his heart so she can hear it beating hard and fast underneath her.

Oliver’s breath hitches in his chest, and she looks up to find him crying openly. She wipes away his tears with her fingertips before kissing his cheek. Then she wraps her arms around him and rests her head under his chin.

“My strong, handsome, beautiful hero. I love you so much, Oliver.”

Oliver holds her close. 

“ _ Fe-LI-ci-ty,”  _ he whispers, his tears falling into her hair.

* * *

 

The next day, Felicity spends five hours shopping.

She buys herself two new pairs of shoes, some comfy clothes for around the house, and a few books that she can read to Oliver when they’re done with  _ Harry Potter _ . She also treats herself to a new dress. She’s not sure when she’ll have a chance to wear it, but she doesn’t really care, because the minute she laid eyes on it she knew she had to have it. It’s a light shade of turquoise blue - a color that Oliver loves on her - and when her mom sees it she insists that Felicity model it for them. She puts it on with the new pair of “cat flats” she just bought, and when she twirls for them her mother squeals with delight while Oliver just stares at her in wide-eyed awe, his mouth hanging open slightly.

Felicity laughs lightly as she stops twirling. 

“What do you think, Oliver? Do you like it?”

Oliver nods, then turns away from her and blushes. 

“You look gorgeous, honey,” Donna assures her, and Oliver nods again, still not able to meet her eyes.

Felicity walks over to him and kisses the top of his head.

“I’ll wear it again sometime, sweetie. When you’re feeling better. How does that sound?”

Finally, Oliver turns to look at her, and he nods.

“Felicity,” he agrees.

She changes out of the dress and into a pair of sweats and a tank top, but she keeps the cat flats on because they’re comfortable.  She settles back on the couch to watch TV with Oliver and her mother, and as she props her feet up on the coffee table to admire her new shoes, Oliver watches her quietly. 

Suddenly, he bends over, carefully touches the top of her foot, and frowns.

“Felicity?” he asks, and her heart skips a beat at the now familiar tone of his voice of recognition. He’s gazing thoughtfully at the shoes, which have clearly sparked some deep-seated memory in him.

But as usual, the moment quickly passes.

“Felicity!” he chuckles softly, and he tweaks one of the little cat’s ears.

“I used to have shoes just like these, only they had pandas on them,” Felicity explains. “Do you remember those?” 

Oliver nods, smiling happily. He snuggles closer to her, resting his head on her shoulder as he continues to stare down at the shoes.

Felicity keeps them on all day, because they make Oliver smile.

* * *

 

Because Oliver did so well with Donna while she was out shopping, Felicity decides to go out again the next day, too. She spends five hours at work with Curtis, and Lance spends the day with Oliver and Donna. When she gets home, Felicity stays alone with Oliver while her mother and Quentin spend the evening out together.

Later that night, Felicity asks her mother if she and Lance are getting serious again.

“It’s not like that, sweetie. Quentin is...he’s struggling, and I’m just trying to be there for him. As a friend.”

“Do you really believe that?”

Donna sighs. “I’m not sure, honey. I just...I just know that I want to help him. He really needs someone right now and I still...I still care about him.”

“I know you do, Mom. I know.”

“Felicity…do you think I’m doing the right thing?” Donna asks, and it’s the first time since she arrived in Star City three weeks ago that her mother has sounded unsure of herself.

Felicity sighs. “I don’t know, Mom. But I do know that you care about Quentin. You care about him the same way you care about Oliver, and about me. When you love someone, you love them with every fiber of your being, and you never stop showing them that. It’s one of the things I admire most about you.”

“Oh, honey,” Donna whispers. “Do you really think so?”

Felicity nods, tears rising in her eyes. “I _ know so _ ,” she assures her.

Donna smiles as she hugs her daughter close.

“I love you so much, baby.”

“I love you, too, Mom.”

* * *

 

The following day, Donna goes out to do her own retail therapy, and Felicity spends some time reading to Oliver from  _ Order of the Phoenix.  _ She reads for a good three hours, taking breaks from time to time to rest her voice, and they finish the book early in the afternoon.

Oliver cries when Sirius dies, and Felicity wonders briefly if maybe she’s made a mistake choosing this series to read to him. But when she asks Oliver if he’s sure that he wants to watch the fifth movie (they’ve gotten into the habit of watching the movies when they’ve finished with the books), Oliver nods, and so Felicity sits close to him and they watch it together.

After dinner, Oliver draws a picture of Sirius Black falling through The Veil as he dies. Or at least, she  _ thinks  _ it’s Sirius Black...but on closer inspection, she realizes that it’s actually Oliver. Oliver looks...almost peaceful as he falls. The picture is both beautiful and haunting, and it fills her with a sense of dread.

“Honey….” Felicity says carefully, sitting next to him on the couch as she looks at the picture. “It’s very beautiful, but….” 

She’s not sure what to say to him; how to explain just why the picture scares her. It reminds her of the night she found him on the balcony, staring down at the pavement ten stories below.

Oliver continues to study the drawing like he hasn’t heard her, going once more to that place where she can’t follow him.

Felicity sighs, getting up on her knees on the couch. She snuggles closer to him and wraps her arms around him from the side, resting her chin on his shoulder.

“I missed you, Oliver. During those two months you were gone, I...I missed you so much.”

Oliver continues to stare at his drawing, running his fingers gently along the lines of his own image.

“I’m glad you’re home, honey. I don’t...I don’t know what I would have done if I’d lost you.”

Her voice breaks, just the slightest, and it’s enough to break Oliver out of his reverie.

“Felicity?” he asks, turning to look at her curiously.

She smiles at him before kissing his shoulder.

“I’m here for you, my love. No matter what happens, I’ll always be here. I won’t stop fighting for you, Oliver, and I just…I hope you can do the same for me.”

Oliver gazes long and hard at her, and it’s clear he doesn’t quite understand what she means.

“I’m sorry. I’m not making any sense, am I?” she asks, and Oliver shakes his head.

Felicity rests her cheek on his shoulder, looking down at his drawing. She’s reluctant to put it on the wall, but it doesn’t really belong in his artpad, either. When she asks him if he wants to put it up, he nods, and she watches silently as he tapes the drawing to the wall with the others.

When he returns to the couch, he sinks back against the cushions, sighing deeply.

“Will you draw me something happy?” she asks him hopefully, though she’s pretty sure she knows what his answer will be.

He shakes his head before yawning softly, and Felicity sighs.

“Time for bed, Oliver.”

She holds him tighter than usual that night, and it’s a long time before the sound of his calm, even breathing lulls her to sleep.

* * *

 

Felicity spends a good six hours at work the next day, bringing home salads for dinner. Oliver has a present for her: a Happy Drawing of him and Quentin sitting on the couch watching _The Little Mermaid_ together. Felicity raises a brow in Lance’s direction, and when he meets her eye he just shrugs.

“What? I raised two little girls, you know.”

* * *

 

The day after that, Felicity goes to see a movie, then spends some time in the park, where she writes in her journal for a good hour. Oliver’s done so well during his first week of her being gone, and she really feels like he’s finally beginning to make some progress.

She comes home to find Oliver taking a nap on the couch.

“Is he all right?” Felicity whispers, running a hand along Oliver’s furrowed brow. He sighs in his sleep, leaning into her touch, and she strokes his forehead gently before pulling away.

“He had a bit of hard day, honey,” Donna tells her, holding out Oliver’s current drawing pad. “Nothing we couldn’t handle, but...well, he was pretty busy with all of these.” 

Felicity flips through the new drawings. She loses count eventually, but there are at least ten of them, and none of them are Happy Drawings. Felicity winces at a particularly brutal image of Oliver sitting over a man who looks like he’s been beaten to death. Oliver’s hands are soaked in blood and he’s holding a hammer, and there’s a Chinese woman standing over him with a look of horror on her face (she looks familiar, though Felicity can’t remember her name). The word “justice” is written at the top of the page. 

“Has he done anything else today?” she asks, unable to look at the drawings anymore.

“No, baby. I tried reading  _ The Hobbit _ to him but he wasn’t listening. I couldn’t even get him to stop drawing long enough to eat lunch. Eventually he fell asleep with the pad in his lap and I was able to get him to lie down. I tried to make him comfortable,” she finishes, pointing at the blanket wrapped loosely around his frame.

Felicity sighs, pulling the blanket higher up his body and tucking it in under his shoulders. Oliver shivers in his sleep, and Felicity mumbles softly to him, caressing his brow once more.

“Shhh, it’s okay. It’s okay, honey, I’m home.”

Oliver mutters a quiet “Felicity” in his sleep. A minute later he’s settled into soft snores.

Felicity moves with her mother into the dining room and sits down at the table while Donna putters around in the kitchen making her a mug of warm milk. When she brings it over and takes a seat next to her, Felicity sips it slowly, thinking hard.

“Sweetie...bad days are going to happen,” Donna assures her carefully. “You know that, right? None of this is your fault.”

Felicity shakes her head, setting the mug down on the table.

“I’m spending too much time away from him.”

“Honey-”

“I’ll stay home with him every other day. On the days I go out, I won’t be gone for more than five hours. I’m going to set a schedule, and I’ll make sure I go over it with him every night.”

She grips the mug tightly between her hands, hard enough that her fingers start to turn white, and Donna reaches over and grabs Felicity’s right wrist. She pulls her hand away from the mug and squeezes it.

“Felicity, honey, are you sure?” Donna asks gently.

“I’m sure, Mom. It’s not just for him...and it’s not just because I feel guilty. It’s...it’s for me, too. As much as I want to try and live something resembling a normal life I just  _ can’t. _ I can’t do that knowing he’s here; knowing that he needs me. I can’t...I can’t do it without him.”

She doesn’t know exactly what she even means by “it.” Getting up every morning. Putting one foot in front of the other. Working, and loving, and existing, and just  _ breathing. _ Oliver makes each and every one of those things easier for her. He always has.

Donna sighs, then leans over and kisses her cheek.

“Okay, baby. How about we get started on that schedule right now?”

* * *

 

Over the next two weeks, Felicity sticks to a steady schedule: she stays home with Oliver one day and goes out the next. She sets the schedule a few days at a time so she can plan ahead. Every night, she goes over the following day’s schedule with Oliver before they go to bed. She tells Oliver when she’ll be gone and for how long. She tells him where she plans to go and who will stay with him.

Felicity spends her time out of the house as productively as possible, whether she’s at work or taking some time for herself to go shopping or take a walk in the park or see a movie. She doesn’t waste a single second, or take any of that time for granted, because she knows she can’t let herself feel guilty. She needs this time to regroup and reenergize, so she has more patience and energy and love to devote to helping Oliver.

After a few days, Oliver seems to grow comfortable with the schedule, and Felicity sticks to it. Oliver has good days and bad days, but it’s nothing her mother can’t handle without her. He continues to draw both “good things” and “bad things,” and while the bad still outweighs the good, overall the drawing seems to be helping him. Felicity and her mother agree that it seems like Oliver’s using the drawing as an outlet to release some of his pain, as he still can’t express his feelings in words.

In time, Oliver’s Happy Drawings completely fill the wall behind their bed, and Felicity starts posting them along the wall opposite the windows. Pads full of Oliver’s other drawings find a home on the bookcase. She pulls them out from time to time, and every once in awhile she asks Oliver if he wants to tell her about an image, hoping she might get him to talk to her.

But he never does.

Oliver’s mutism worries her more than anything, but she has no idea how to help him get over it. She hopes that the medication he’s taking might help him in time, but deep down she realizes that - no matter how much Oliver hates the idea every time she brings it up - she may need to bring him to a psychiatrist someday.

And then one day, nearly two months after bringing Oliver home, Felicity discovers that her mother has been doing more for Oliver than she ever realized.

* * *

 

Felicity knows the minute she walks in the door that today is one of Oliver’s Bad Days. She finds her mother and Oliver sitting on the couch while Diggle stands nervously in the kitchen. Oliver has his hands over his ears, and he’s shaking his head back and forth and muttering Felicity’s name over and over again. Donna has her hands on his shoulders and is speaking to him softly.

“What’s wrong?” Felicity asks John, dropping her bag on the kitchen counter.

John shakes his head, fidgeting awkwardly on his feet.

“I’m not sure. Your mother was watching the news on TV while Oliver was drawing and something set him off. He put his hands over his ears and started whining, and when Donna asked him what was wrong he started screaming. She just got him to stop, except now he’s just saying your name over and over again and-”

Felicity heads into the living room before he can finish, and she’s just about to speak when her mother grabs Oliver’s forearms and slowly pulls his hands away from his ears. She speaks to him in a tone that’s both gentle and firm. It’s a voice Felicity knows well: the voice Donna would use on her when she got so upset that she couldn’t talk anymore. 

It’s a voice she heard a lot after her father left them.

“I want to help you, Oliver, but I need you to use your words.”

Oliver stops muttering “Felicity” and stares at her, eyes open wide and wet with unshed tears.

“Use your words, honey,” Donna encourages him again.

And then Oliver makes a few quick motions with his hands.

“Okay, so you’re scared. Did something on the television upset you?”

Oliver nods his head. Then he makes a fist with his right hand and moves it in a circular motion against his chest a few times. He rests his clenched hand in his lap.

“You don’t need to apologize, Oliver. It’s okay. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Oliver’s other hand clenches around the blanket covering his legs. He stares down at his fists, shakes his head, and starts to cry. Donna reaches out to touch him, but Oliver pulls away. He unclenches his right fist, points one finger in the air, and moves it in a slow circle. 

“You want to be left alone?” Donna asks him carefully, and Oliver nods.

“Okay, sweetie. I’m going to go into the kitchen and help John make dinner. If you need anything, just come and get me.”

Oliver nods again, and he turns away from her and leans back against the couch, like he’s trying to burrow inside it. He grabs a pillow and holds it to his chest, closing his eyes as tears roll silently down his cheeks.

He never even noticed that Felicity came home.

Felicity tries to speak, but her mother grabs her arm and leads her into the kitchen instead. When the two of them are standing next to John, Felicity finally gets her mouth to move.

“Mom...you’re teaching him sign language?”

* * *

 

Felicity has a lot of questions, and her mother answers all of them while John goes back to making dinner.

“I’ve been teaching Oliver basic ASL for the past two weeks,” Donna tells her. “He’s taken to it well, and he’s picking up on things pretty easily. I’ve even taught Quentin and John a few things, too.”

“ _ Wow _ ,” Felicity breathes in awe. “Mom, that’s  _ fantastic _ ! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well...I….” Her mother stares down at the dining room table, wringing her hands nervously. “I guess I didn’t want you to think I was overstepping my bounds, honey. You’ve been communicating with him so  _ well, _ even though all he ever says is your name. But once it was just the two of us...I needed a way to communicate with him when you weren’t around to translate. I know you can understand him when he’s saying your name but I just can’t.”

“It’s okay, I get it,” Felicity assures her quickly. “Of course I do. But Mom...I had no idea you even  _ knew _ sign language.”

Donna smiles. “When I was growing up, one of my best friends was deaf.”

Felicity stares at her, a million thoughts running through her mind all at once. How could she not have known about this?

“Mom, I didn’t...you never told me,” Felicity mutters, dropping her gaze to the table.

Donna puts a hand on top of hers, and she looks back up at her mother. “I know I don’t have any fancy college degrees like you do, Felicity, but I’m not as dumb as you might think.”

“I’ve never thought you were dumb, Mom,” Felicity stammers, but she feels her cheeks burn hot, and she looks away in shame.

Donna laughs. “Yes, you have, sweetie, but it’s okay. I may not be a genius like my baby girl, but I’m happy with who I am. I raised a daughter all by myself, and she became a smart, kind, beautiful young woman. There’s no shame in that.”

Felicity blushes harder, but this time, when she looks back up at her mother, she smiles.

“No, there isn’t,” she admits.

Donna smiles back at her. “Maybe good looks aren’t the only thing you inherited from your mother?” Donna suggests, and Felicity laughs.

“No,” she agrees. “You also taught me how to be kind, and thoughtful, and compassionate. You showed me how to appreciate what I had, and how to fight for what I wanted, and how to be tough.”

Felicity leans in closer, squeezing her mother’s hand.

“Do you remember what I told you before, Mom?”

Donna nods, tears rising in her eyes, and Felicity continues.

“When you love someone, you love them with all your heart...and I got that from you, too.”

“Oh,  _ honey. _ ”

Donna starts to cry, and when Felicity moves around the table and pulls her mother into a hug, she tells her that she loves her.

* * *

 

Later that night - after coaxing Oliver off the couch, eating dinner, and saying goodnight to John - Donna goes over everything Oliver knows.

She’s taught him a lot of the basics of ASL. She’s taught him “yes” and “no,” though he usually just shakes his head or nods, which works fine. She’s taught him “hello” and “goodbye” and some basic manners such as “please,” “thank you,” “you’re welcome,” and “I’m sorry.” She’s also taught him “I promise,” which he mostly uses when something has upset him and Donna needs to be sure that he’s really okay.

She’s also taught him emotions, so he can explain to her how he’s feeling. He knows how to say he feels happy, sad, angry, and scared. He knows how to say “I’m hungry” and “I’m thirsty” and “I’m tired,” and he knows how to ask for food, or water, or a nap...or some time alone.

Whenever Oliver gets upset - whether he’s shouting or crying or going silent - Donna always asks, “How are you feeling, Oliver?” Whenever she says it, it means she needs some kind of answer from him, and she never lets him get away with not giving her one. If he refuses to answer her, she prompts him by gently saying, “use your words,” and eventually he will sign a response.

He also knows how to say “it hurts.” When he says something hurts, Donna will always ask him where. Sometimes it’s his leg or his knee or a headache, and she’ll give him pain meds, water, or an ice pack. But then sometimes it’s a hurt she can’t fix - something that’s bothering him on the inside - and he’ll put a hand over his heart.

“When that happens, I’ll ask him if he wants me to call you. But he always just shakes his head and curls up on the couch. I’m not sure what to do for him when he gets like that.”

Felicity nods, knowing the feeling.

“Sometimes he goes inside his head, where I can’t follow him, and I just…I feel so  _ helpless. _ ”

Donna sighs. “We’ll get there eventually, baby. He just needs time.”

Felicity nods, but a small part of her - a part that grows larger and larger as the days go by - wonders just how much time he’s going to need….

...and if he’s ever going to be the same again.

Felicity stares at Oliver, who’s fallen into a fitful sleep on the couch. Donna closes the laptop she’s been using to show Felicity a few simple signs, then grabs her daughter’s hand and squeezes it tightly.

“There’s one more thing I think you should know, hon. I tried to teach him to say ‘I love you’ in sign language...but he refuses to say it in any other way but by using your name. I just learned to accept it...because every time he says your name like that his eyes light up and you can just... _ feel it _ , you know? And it’s just so...it’s so  _ beautiful _ , Felicity.”

Felicity’s eyes well up with tears, and she’s struck with the sudden and fierce urge to wake Oliver up and hug him. Her mother must read her mind, because Donna tugs on her hand before she can get to her feet.

“Let him sleep, baby. He’s had a long day.” 

Felicity sighs, but eventually she nods, and she turns to her mother and squeezes her hand back.

“Mom...I don’t think I can ever repay you for everything you’ve been doing. For him...and for me.”

Donna smiles. “You can thank me by doing everything it takes to make that boy better.”

Felicity nods. 

“Done,” she agrees.

“And I wouldn’t say no to a few grandchildren, either.”

“ _ Mommmm.” _

“No pressure, sweetie, no pressure,” Donna says with a laugh, and she lets go of Felicity’s hand and stands. She gazes at Oliver for a few seconds, then turns back to her daughter.

“That boy would rip the moon out of the sky itself if he thought it would make you smile,” Donna tells her, and Felicity’s heart leaps in her chest.

“I know he would,” Felicity sighs, watching as Oliver starts to fidget anxiously in his sleep.

“He loves you so much, hon, and I think...I think that’s what’s going to bring him back to you in the end.”

Felicity gets to her feet, moving to stand next to her mother. The Smoak women watch as Oliver mumbles Felicity’s name until he stops tossing and turning and settles back into a deep sleep.

“I hope so, Mom,” Felicity whispers. “I hope so.”

* * *

 

The next morning, Donna starts teaching Felicity ASL, showing her all the simple words and phrases that she’s shown Oliver. Felicity spends some time trying to get Oliver to communicate with her using sign language, but as the day wears on it becomes clear that Oliver prefers using her name to signing. Felicity knows that Oliver’s comfortable with their current form of communication, and because she can understand him well enough, she decides to accept it. For the most part, Oliver continues to communicate with her the same way he has for nearly two months, though he’s willing to oblige her whenever she asks him to “use his words.”

Felicity also spends that evening trying to get Oliver to communicate with her by writing things down, figuring that if he’s writing words on his drawings he might be willing to write words in order to talk to her. She asks Oliver if he’ll write down how he feels, or write down what’s bothering him, or write down the story of what happened to him over those two months he was held prisoner. But no matter what she asks him to write down, his answer is the same: a shake of his head or a sign of  _ No. _

“Honey, you don’t have to share anything with me that you don’t want to. I just think that maybe if you could write some things down-”

“Felicity!” Oliver states emphatically, shaking his head  _ no _ , and he picks up his drawing pad from the table and opens it. He points to one drawing, then turns the page and points to the next. He does the same thing a few more times before she understands.

“Okay, Oliver. I think I get it now.  _ This _ is how you want to tell your story,” she says, pointing at the drawing he’s stopped on. “Not in words, but in pictures.”

Oliver nods, letting out a deep sigh. He closes the pad, clinging to it tightly.

“Okay, sweetie. I understand. If this is what you’re comfortable with, I won’t push you.”

Oliver nods fervently, and he puts the pad back on the table and hugs her.

_ “FeLIcity,”  _ he whispers against her shoulder, and she smiles as she hugs him back.

“You’re welcome.”

Later that night, while Oliver sleeps, Felicity talks things over with her mother, and she begins to get a sense for Oliver’s mindset when it comes to communicating. While he isn’t willing to write down his thoughts, he  _ is _ willing to draw them. Anytime he writes down words, they seem to be an extension of his drawings: some key word attached to the image he’s depicting - either something said to him by his captors or something uttered in a memory that his tortured mind has dredged up.

Donna admits that Oliver has picked up on ASL more easily than she thought he would, and Felicity suspects that’s because he finds it more engaging and interactive than writing. Signing is (quite literally) more hands on, and it gives him a chance to distract his mind as he learns something new - at least for a time. It’s a way for Oliver to keep growing and healing, and Felicity finds that she can’t stop thanking her mother for bringing this new form of communication into their lives.

* * *

 

A month into Oliver’s art therapy, Felicity comes home to find Oliver asleep in bed while Donna sits at the kitchen table nursing a cup of tea. As Felicity approaches her mother, she knows immediately that something is wrong.

“Mom? What’s wrong?” she asks quietly, noting the dried tears on her mother’s cheeks and her running mascara.

“It’s nothing, baby,” Donna assures her, attempting a smile as she dabs at her face with the corner of a napkin. “Oliver...he’s had a rough day, but we’re okay now.”

Donna moves to the kitchen to make another cup of tea, and Felicity notices Oliver’s drawing pad on the table. She picks it up and flips through the pages. He’s drawn a lot today, it seems, and there’s nothing happy to be found. He’s drawn page after page of scenes from his time in Russia: scenes of killing, scenes of torture….

The last page is filled with nothing but black and a few drops of red, and the drops of red look suspiciously like….

“Blood,” Donna confirms as she puts a fresh mug of tea down on the table for her daughter.

“Oh my god,” Felicity gasps, and she puts down the pad and moves to check on Oliver.

He’s fast asleep, and she can see that his hands are clutching at the pillow he has pressed tightly to his face. Some of his fingers are bandaged.

“Mom...what happened?” she asks quietly, watching as Oliver shifts slightly and frowns in his sleep.

“Outside, honey,” Donna whispers, grabbing Felicity’s elbow and leading her away from him. “Oliver needs his rest.”

Once they’re sitting out on the balcony, Donna tells her what happened.

* * *

 

About an hour before Felicity is supposed to come home, Donna goes upstairs to take a quick shower. When she comes back down, she finds Oliver filling in one of the pages of his pad with a black pencil. 

Nothing but black, over and over.

He must’ve pressed too hard, though, because she finds him coloring with a piece of a broken pencil, and he’s managed to cut his fingertips. When she realizes that the spots of red on the page are actually Oliver’s blood, she gasps.

“Oh,  _ honey _ .”

Oliver moans quietly to himself as he colors the page over and over, and Donna suspects he’s unaware of what he’s doing. She can’t bear to watch him hurt himself, and she takes the pencil away from him without asking, which only upsets him more. He starts whining as he takes it back from her, then starts coloring again. 

“Oliver, sweetie, please give me the pencil,” Donna prompts, and she holds out her hand.

Oliver shakes his head and groans, “ _ Felicityyy.” _ He keeps going, but he’s bleeding even more now and Donna can’t stand it. She tries to take the pencil from him again, only this time Oliver slaps her hand and yells, “FELICITY!”

And Donna’s had enough.

“Oliver. Jonas. Queen,” she bites out in her best Mom Voice.

Oliver finally stops drawing, and he turns to stare at her, his fingers dripping blood onto the page.

“You give me that pencil RIGHT. NOW,” Donna orders him.

...And it works.

Wordlessly, Oliver hands her both pieces of the broken pencil, and Donna chucks them in the trash before grabbing the first aid kit from under the sink in the bathroom. Then she wets some clean paper towels and brings everything back to Oliver’s spot at the coffee table.

She starts cleaning the blood and black pencil from Oliver’s fingers. Tears rise in his eyes as she works, and when she puts antiseptic on a bad cut on his finger, he whimpers.

“I know, honey. I know it hurts. But you’re going to be okay.”

She puts bandages over the cuts to stop the bleeding, and when she’s finally done she smiles at him.

“There. All better now. How are you feeling, Oliver?”

Oliver shakes his head, and he’s crying silently now.

“How are you feeling, Oliver?” she tries again, and she turns his hands palm side up and holds them carefully, gently stroking his palms.

_ “Felicityyy,”  _ Oliver whimpers, and Donna shakes her head, leaning forward and rubbing his shoulders instead.

“Use your words, please, sweetie.”

Oliver sobs quietly, then nods. He uses his hands to slowly sign, _ It hurts. _

“Where does it hurt?” she asks him, though she already suspects he’s not talking about his fingers.

Oliver just shakes his head, pointing at his heart, then his head. His pain is internal; something she can’t help him with.

“I understand. Do you need me to call Felicity?” Donna asks.

Oliver thinks for a minute, then shakes his head no. He signs,  _ I’m tired. _

“Okay, honey. How about a nap then? Does that sound good?”

Oliver nods and moves over to the bed. As he crawls under the covers, Donna heads into the bathroom and puts away the first aid kit. Then she unlocks the medicine cabinet and grabs a few of Oliver’s sleeping pills, filling a glass with water. She brings them out to Oliver and hands them to him, and Oliver swallows the pills without question. He understands what they are by now, and he knows how they will help him. He always takes them when they’re offered to him, because he trusts Donna and Felicity enough to know that when they’re giving them to him, then it must mean he needs them.

Donna makes herself a cup of tea and sits at the kitchen table as Oliver curls his body around a pillow and mumbles Felicity’s name.

She cries quietly to herself as Oliver falls asleep, and ten minutes later that’s where Felicity finds her.

* * *

 

It’s not the last meltdown that Oliver has….

...and it’s also not the worst.

Although Oliver has occasional outbursts when Felicity’s around, most of them occur when she’s gone. Donna is able to deal with them on her own, however, and when John or Quentin spend the day with her they’re able to help out as well. Felicity worries that he’s having the outbursts because she’s not around, but her mother doesn’t think that’s true. For the most part, Oliver is doing well: most certainly better than he was a month ago when Donna first arrived, or nearly two months ago when Felicity first brought him home. Donna suspects that there are just certain things that trigger him; perhaps because of his abduction and torture, or simply because of older memories that are resurfacing.

Regardless, her mother assures her that Oliver’s behavior is nothing to worry about, and Felicity trusts her judgment.

Because Oliver  _ is _ doing better; he’s getting stronger and stronger every day.

And yet….

And yet there’s a part of Oliver that Felicity still can’t reach; hurdles he can’t seem to jump no matter how much she’s there to help him….

And the part of Felicity that fears that Oliver will never be the same again grows stronger and stronger every day….

Until one afternoon, two months after bringing Oliver home, Felicity receives a phone call from her mother while she’s at work.

“Honey, I need you to come home as soon as you can.”

Felicity’s heart drops into her stomach. “Mom, what’s wrong?” she asks, her voice trembling, and she nearly drops the phone when she hears a loud crash and a shout of her name on the other end of the line.

“It’s Oliver,” Donna tells her. “He’s...he’s not doing well.”

* * *

 

Felicity makes it home in record time, grateful that the traffic is nonexistent at two in the afternoon. She throws open the door to the loft, terrified of what she might find.

“What’s wrong?” she asks as soon as she walks through the door.

“FELICITY!” she hears Oliver shout from the kitchen, and she finds him standing in front of an open cabinet. Broken dishes lie scattered on the floor at his feet, and Donna stands on the other side of the kitchen island, her hands gripping the counter hard enough that her knuckles are turning white.

“Oh my god,” Felicity gasps, taking in the scene in front of her.

“FELICITY!” Oliver yells again, and he reaches into the cabinet and grabs a plate.

“Oliver, stop!” Felicity shouts at him, but Oliver hurls the plate against the counter, smashing it to pieces. Felicity and Donna both wince at the sound, and she understands why her mother called her. She hasn’t seen Oliver this upset since she rescued him.

“Oliver, stop it!” Felicity shouts again, using her Loud Voice. “Stop it right now!”

She closes the distance between them, and Oliver grabs a glass from the cabinet this time. He lifts it over his head.

Felicity flinches, taking a small step back instinctively...and Oliver doesn’t smash it. Instead he watches her silently, chest heaving, tears of frustration pouring down his cheeks.

And she tries a different approach.

“Oliver, please. You’re scaring me.”

Oliver’s eyes grow wide, and he lowers his arm.

“Felicity?” he asks carefully, and she nods at him.

“It’s okay, sweetie, it’s okay. Oliver, put the glass down. Please.”

And he does. Oliver puts the glass down on the counter, watching her closely.

He shakes his head. 

“ _ Felicity…” _ he whimpers, and she takes a step toward him, moving around the broken dishes on the floor.

“You’re okay, honey. Everything’s going to be fine. Let’s get out of the kitchen, all right?”

Oliver nods, and she grips his hand tightly and pulls him out of the room, carefully maneuvering him around the shards of glass and china plates. She leads him into the living room and gestures toward the couch. Oliver sits down, gazing up at her with tears drying on his cheeks, while Donna follows them into the room and stands quietly off to the side.

Felicity looks down at Oliver, wringing her hands together anxiously. “I don’t...Oliver, why would you do this?”

Oliver turns away from her, unable to look her in the eyes any longer, and his body starts to tremble. He points miserably at his art pad. Felicity moves closer to the coffee table to look down at it, and she sees a drawing of what looks like….

“Your mother,” Felicity whispers, turning back to him. “Oh, Oliver.”

It’s a drawing of the night Moira Queen died. Oliver’s drawn himself and Thea tied up on the ground while Slade Wilson runs a sword through his mother’s chest. Felicity shakes her head, trying hard not to cry as she realizes something.

“Those plates you broke….”

Oliver pulled them out of storage when they moved into the loft two summers ago. They were part of a collection that used to reside in the Queen Mansion.

His mother’s plates.

“ _ F...F….”  _ Oliver groans. He lifts his right hand up by his face, spreads his fingers wide, and taps on his chin with his thumb three times. Then he buries his head in his trembling hands and sobs.

It’s the sign for “mom.”

...And for the first time in two months, Felicity freezes. She watches Oliver cry, and suddenly she can’t move. She has no idea what to do for him; no idea how to help him.

She feels completely and utterly useless. 

And then Donna’s moving past her.

“It’s okay, baby, I’m here,” Donna assures him.

And Felicity chokes back a sob as she watches her mother comfort Oliver like he’s her own son.

* * *

 

She loses track of how long she stands there and watches them. Her mother holds him close, rubbing soothing circles along his back and whispering softly to him. Eventually, the desire to join Oliver in crying becomes too much for Felicity, and she leaves the room. She heads into the kitchen and starts sweeping up the mess, desperate to do  _ something  _ useful.

In time, Oliver stops crying. She hears her mother ask him if he feels better, and she hears a soft “Felicity” of affirmation. Felicity dumps a few pieces of broken plate into the garbage and starts sweeping up the last of it. Donna asks Oliver if he’d like some hot chocolate, and he must nod his head because her mother joins her in the kitchen soon after.

Felicity opens her mouth, wanting to say something, but she’s at a loss for words. Instead, she busies herself making tea. The two women fix their drinks silently, and when Donna’s done with Oliver’s hot chocolate she heads back to the living room.

“What’s this?” she hears her mother ask softly, and she looks up in time to see Donna sit down on the couch as Oliver hands her a piece of paper. Felicity moves toward the living room just as her mother whispers,  _ “Oh, my beautiful boy.” _ Then Donna wraps her arms around Oliver’s neck and holds him tight. Felicity moves closer, biting her lower lip, and she can just make out Oliver’s drawing from where it’s clutched tightly in her mother’s hand. 

It’s a hastily drawn bouquet of flowers, and he’s written the words “I’m sorry” above it in shaky lettering.

“It’s okay, Oliver. I’m not mad at you,” Donna assures him, and Oliver shakes his head and pulls away from her. He signs the words “I’m sorry” over and over again like he can’t stop.

“Oliver, sweetie, it’s okay,” Donna whispers, and she grabs his hands and holds them. “I forgive you.”

Oliver stares at her long and hard. Donna squeezes his hands encouragingly.

Finally, Oliver whispers, “ _ Fe-LI-ci-ty.” _

Donna smiles warmly at him. “I love you, too, Oliver.” Then she pulls away from him slightly and holds out her arms. “Can I have another hug, please?”

Oliver nods fervently, then hugs her tight. When he pulls away, Donna kisses his forehead. Oliver lets out a quiet sob as he lies down on the couch and rests his head in her lap. It’s something she knows he used to do with Moira when he was a little boy...and something that Felicity used to do with her mother, too. As Donna places a hand on his head and gently strokes her fingers through his hair to soothe him, Felicity can feel her heart literally aching, and she finds that she can’t stay in this room anymore.

She excuses herself without a word, hurrying up the stairs to her mother's bedroom, where she falls onto the bed, buries her face in a pillow, and screams.

About ten minutes later, she feels the bed dip beside her.

“Is he okay?” Felicity asks, turning her head away from the pillow so she can speak.

Her mother sighs. “He just fell asleep,” Donna tells her quietly. She rubs a hand soothingly along Felicity’s back, much like she just did with Oliver, and Felicity lets out a sob.

“ _ I don’t know how to help him,” _ Felicity says, and her voice is shaking so bad it’s a wonder she can even talk.

“Felicity,” her mother coos softly. “Sweetie, you’re being too hard on yourself. You  _ are _ helping him, and he  _ is _ getting better. It’s just a slow process. One that’s going to take time.”

“You keep _ saying that _ ,” Felicity moans, burying her face farther into the pillow, and she can’t fight the tears anymore. “You and John...you keep saying that, and I believe you, but then things like  _ this _ keep happening, and I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“Oh, honey,” Donna soothes her. She scoots in closer, running her fingers through her daughter’s hair. “Oliver’s trying very hard. He’s strong, just like my little girl. He loves you more than anything. He’ll come back to you. We just need to have faith.”

Felicity whimpers, and she lets out another sob.

“Mom, I’m  _ scared _ . I’m terrified that he’s been through too much and...and he’s not going to come back from this. I love him so much, and it’s killing me to see him like this.” Her tears flow freely now, and she can’t remember the last time she let herself cry like this: not in front of her mother; not in front of anyone. “I just...I just want my Oliver back.”

“I know, baby, I know. Shhh, it’s okay, I’m here.” 

And Felicity lies her head in her mother’s lap and cries like she's a little girl again.

_...tbc… _

* * *

 

**AN** **:** A picture of the new pair of shoes I imagined for Felicity, who was feeling nostalgic while she was shopping:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knew very early on that I wanted to explore the idea of Oliver using American Sign Language to communicate. I don’t know ASL (though I would love to learn the basics someday), so I researched the signs I ended up describing.
> 
> I prefer the idea of Oliver using ASL over him writing things down because I feel like my version of Oliver would still “say” very little whether he wrote words down or signed them. Oliver doesn't want to discuss what happened to him in words, but he’s willing to draw things because he finds that to be easier. ASL makes as much sense as him writing things out, but ASL is better for him because it’s more interactive and, quite literally, hands on, than just writing words. Learning ASL also gives Oliver’s brain a workout, gives him a chance to learn something new and to keep growing, and gives him a distraction from all the thoughts and memories in his head, at least for a time. In short, it seemed fitting for the story I'm trying to tell.
> 
> It also afforded me opportunities concerning Donna. It gave me a chance to develop her character. It granted me a way to help her bond with Oliver. And it gave me a chance to explore her relationship with Felicity (I liked the idea of Donna knowing it and Felicity not realizing there were things about her mother she never knew).
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. As always, reviews feed my soul. :)


	9. Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this update took so long. I've been having difficulty feeling motivated recently, and not just with writing. This chapter's pretty long in comparison to the others so hopefully that helps a bit. :) A million thanks to everyone who's been asking for updates, because you've all been so patient with me and I feel blessed. <3

**< \--Chapter Eight: Healing--> **

The next day, Felicity decides that it’s time to try therapy.

She knows Oliver’s averse to leaving the loft. On the few occasions she’s gotten him ready to go outside - paparazzi be damned - he’s always ended up fighting her at the last minute. 

“Oliver, there’s a park just a few blocks from here I think you’d really like. And it’s two in the afternoon so there won’t be many people there.”

“Oliver, I just want you to see the new cafe that opened up on the corner. They make a delicious hot chocolate.”

“Oliver, honey, it’s a beautiful day outside. Mrs. Huff in 4A asked me if you’d like to take her dog for a walk sometime. Would you like to take a walk with me?”

Sometimes he shakes his head, sometimes he shouts her name, and sometimes he actually cries - but no matter how she asks him, or what activity she suggests, his answer is always “no.”

It doesn’t help that the fervor over Oliver’s rescue still hasn’t died down. A few of the news stations are still talking about Oliver, even though it’s been nearly two months since they found out about his return. According to the ACU, one particularly scummy online blogger is still attempting to infiltrate her building for information on Oliver’s condition (a quick hack, a few minutes of digging into the blogger’s history, and a not-so-thinly veiled threat are enough to get him to back off in the end). Every once in awhile, Felicity gets accosted by people on the street asking her how Oliver’s doing - both paparazzi and regular citizens. She’s been lucky so far; no one has been too aggressive with her.

She understands why Oliver wants to avoid the attention, and she doesn’t blame him in the least. They both know first hand how pushy and mean the paparazzi can be, and she doesn’t want to subject Oliver to anything he’s not ready for. But he needs to see a therapist, and if she can’t get him out of the apartment to see someone then someone will have to come and see him.

And so Felicity calls Lyla and asks her if she has any contacts at ARGUS who would be able to help Oliver discreetly. Lyla’s more than willing to help, and she offers to set up a meeting for Oliver with an ARGUS psychiatrist that she trusts. Felicity knows she needs to talk to Oliver about it first, and she agrees to get back to Lyla as soon as possible.

Convincing Oliver to see a psychiatrist proves to be easier said than done.

“Oliver, you know how you’ve always been so good about going to see Doctor Schwartz, even though you don’t want to?” Felicity asks him.

Oliver nods, and he signs a simple,  _ She helps me. _

Felicity nods. “Well, this is kind of the same thing, only this doctor is going to help you with the hurts that we  _ can’t  _ see.”

Oliver looks away from her, still unsure, and Felicity can’t blame him. He’s always been averse to the idea of therapy, even before his two month ordeal.

“I just want to help you, honey,” Felicity assures him. “You know that, don’t you?”

Oliver nods, biting his lower lip as he wrings his hands in his lap. Then he signs,  _ I’m scared. _

“I know you are, sweetie. But I wouldn’t be asking you to do this if I didn’t think it was the right thing to do; if I didn’t think it would help you.”

In the end, it takes a fair amount of bribing on her part (Oliver’s love for her mother’s cookies never fails to make her smile) and a dozen assurances that she’ll be with him the whole time and they can stop anytime he wants to, but eventually, Oliver agrees.

Two days later, Dr. Martinez pays Oliver a visit. She’s a small, kind woman in her early 40s. She’s been briefed a bit on Oliver’s situation, and Felicity fills the doctor in on everything she thinks might be important for her to know. The doctor takes good notes, and when she’s ready, she sits in a chair across from Oliver in the living room.

Dr. Martinez introduces herself, assuring Oliver that she’s here to help him. When she asks him how he’s feeling today, Oliver mutters a quiet, “Felicity.” Felicity squeezes his hand and encourages him to use his words. Oliver sighs deeply, and though his hands are shaking, he signs,  _ I’m scared. _

Dr. Martinez smiles...and then she signs back,  _ I understand. _

Oliver gasps.

“She knows sign language, Oliver. Isn’t that lucky?” Felicity asks.

Oliver nods, and he signs,  _ How? _

“My mother was born deaf,” Dr. Martinez explains. “I’ve had a lot of experience with deaf patients, and also people with mutism, like you.”

Oliver shifts nervously in his seat, and he looks away from the doctor as he signs,  _ I’m sorry. _

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Oliver. In my time working with ARGUS, I’ve seen many cases like yours. People dealing with PTSD, depression, nightmares, and all kinds of trauma.”

Oliver looks at the woman curiously.

“You said you were scared, Oliver. Do you still feel that way right now?” the doctor asks him.

Oliver thinks for a second before nodding.

“Felicity,” he whispers in agreement, and Felicity squeezes his hand tightly to let him know she’s there.

Dr. Martinez smiles warmly at him.

“Well, I hope that by the end of our session today we can change that.”

* * *

 

Oliver does as well as can be expected in his first therapy session. Because he’s unwilling to talk, it’s hard for Dr. Martinez to truly understand him, but with Oliver’s permission, Felicity shows the doctor his art pads. Dr. Martinez flips through them slowly, trying her best to remain emotionless as she does so, but Felicity catches the doctor wincing and gasping every once in awhile.

When she’s gone through all the drawings, she looks at Oliver and smiles sadly. 

“You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you, Oliver?”

Oliver nods, whimpering softly, and Felicity wraps an arm around his shoulder and hugs him tightly.

“But I noticed you have a lot of happy memories, too,” the doctor responds, and she moves over to the wall to look at Oliver’s Happy Drawings. Felicity feels hopeful as the doctor looks at Oliver’s art, and when she sits back down Dr. Martinez smiles at Oliver and then at her.

“I think the art therapy was a brilliant idea, Ms. Smoak,” the doctor assures her.

“Please, call me Felicity. And it was my mother’s idea, actually.”

“Well, whoever’s idea it was, you should keep at it, Oliver. I think it will be very helpful for you.”

Oliver nods, then says, “ _ FeLIcity.” _

“That means ‘thank you,’” Felicity explains, and Dr. Martinez smiles again as she writes on her notepad.

“It seems like you can understand him pretty well, even though all he says is your name.”

Felicity shrugs. “I’ve always been able to understand him...probably better than anyone.”

The doctor nods. “I can only speculate on this, of course, but I think the fact that Oliver communicates using your name means he held on tight to the thought of you during his ordeal. Despite the torture and the trauma he’s clearly been through, they couldn’t take you away from him, and I find that incredibly encouraging. He must really love you.”

_ “Fe-LI-ci-ty,” _ Oliver states proudly, and when Felicity replies, “I love you, too,” and kisses him gently on the cheek, she would swear she can see the doctor’s eyes well up with tears.

As Oliver’s session nears its close, Doctor Martinez offers to go over simple breathing exercises that Oliver can use in cases of severe distress or anxiety, and Felicity assures the doctor that she already has a method she uses with him. She also explains how she helps Oliver when he’s suffering from nightmares, and the doctor agrees that all her methods seem sound. 

“You’ve had a lot of practice,” the doctor sympathizes, and Felicity nods her head sadly.

“Too much.”

The doctor also prescribes a new medication that she thinks will work better for Oliver than the one he’s currently taking; something she’s seen work well for patients like him in the past. She also asks to schedule another appointment with him in one week to see if cognitive therapy might help him.

When the session is over, Dr. Martinez asks to speak to Felicity privately.

“Oliver’s not quite like my typical patient,” the doctor admits to Felicity out in the hallway. “His situation is…a bit more extreme than anything I’ve ever seen. But considering everything he’s been through, he’s coping better than I had expected."

“That’s because he’s  _ strong _ ,” Felicity says fiercely. “He always has been.”

The doctor nods. “That’s part of it, I agree. But it’s not just that, Felicity. He has a good support system. The drawing, the signing, your mother...and most importantly  _ you _ . I’ve seen couples help each other through their traumas before, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a couple who cares about each other as much as you and Oliver do.”

Felicity chokes back a sob, and she nods her head.

“I love him more than anything.”

“And he loves you, too; I can see it. And I know it may not seem like it, but you’re helping him more than you realize. I don’t want to make any promises, but...I feel hopeful that Oliver can come back from this someday.”

* * *

 

Felicity isn’t the only one who does her best to help Oliver heal. Everyone has their own part to play in Oliver’s recovery.

Donna continues to stay with Oliver when Felicity goes out. Eventually - despite Felicity’s protestations that she doesn’t need her mother’s money - Donna picks up a part time job bartending at a club downtown so she can do her part to help her daughter pay the bills. Felicity works with her mother’s schedule so that at least one of them is home with Oliver at all times.

Oliver and her mother like to watch Donna’s soaps together. Oliver gasps in all the right places, or rolls his eyes when the characters do stupid things, or shakes his head and sighs. Felicity gets a kick out of the way Oliver and her mother react in sync to some of the overly dramatic scenarios her mother loves watching on TV. 

Lance stays with Oliver and Donna from time to time when he can get out of City Hall, and Oliver picks up what might be his strangest hobby with Quentin, as the two of them work their way through Felicity’s Disney movie collection.

One night, Felicity comes home to a drawing of her and Oliver reenacting the iconic ballroom scene from  _ Beauty and the Beast.  _ He’s drawn the two of them dancing as the titular characters: himself in a blue tuxedo sporting long hair, and her in the gold dress she wore for the Dodger case.

“I thought you didn’t dance, Oliver?” Felicity asks him sweetly. When Oliver shrugs his shoulders and blushes, she bends down and tenderly kisses his cheek.

“Someday, Oliver. Someday we’ll have that dance.”

“ **Felicity** ,” Oliver promises her.

While Felicity finds it downright adorable that Oliver is bonding with Quentin Lance over Disney movies, she can’t help teasing Lance about it from time to time.

“ _ Tangled _ , Quentin? Really?”

“TWO. GIRLS,” Lance states emphatically, as though the fact that he raised Laurel and Sara is the only response he needs. “And  _ Tangled  _ is a great movie; much better than  _ Frozen _ .”

“Felicity!” Oliver responds, nodding in agreement, and Felicity just laughs at him. 

“Have you ever even _seen_ _Frozen,_ Oliver?”

Oliver looks down at his feet, caught red handed, and he shakes his head.

_ “Next time,”  _ Lance whispers to him conspiratorially, and Oliver grins.

John spends time with Oliver, too, but he rarely stays for more than a few hours, and he keeps his interactions with Oliver to a noticeable minimum.

Felicity briefly considers asking her friend about the distance he seems to be keeping, but decides against it, knowing how private Diggle tends to be. She suspects that John’s been distancing himself from Oliver for much the same reason she suspects that Thea has. She understands more than anyone how hard it is to see Oliver like this; to see the strongest man that any of them has ever known become so quiet and broken. Felicity can’t imagine what it’s like for John - who’s lost his own biological brother  _ twice _ \- to see another brother in so much pain.

After Oliver’s first therapy session, Felicity calls John to tell him about Oliver’s interactions with Dr. Martinez. Diggle agrees that Oliver’s session shows progress, and he asks Felicity if he can come over and spend some time alone with Oliver that afternoon. Felicity agrees immediately, and she spends a few hours getting some work done at the cafe down the street.

When she comes home, she finds Oliver fast asleep on the couch while John watches an old movie on TV. Diggle smiles when she comes in, and he gestures silently at Oliver’s art pad on the table. Felicity finds a simple drawing of Oliver and Diggle embracing each other as brothers outside the walls of Nanda Parbat.

“What happened?” Felicity whispers so as not to wake Oliver.

“We talked,” John explains simply. “Well, I talked, and Oliver listened. I gave him some advice - some tips on how to cope when things start feeling too hard. I’m not sure how much he understood, but….” John trails off, gazing at Oliver sleeping peacefully on the couch. “It feels good to try.”

Felicity smiles at him, then sits gently on the floor at Oliver’s feet. 

“I also told him I’m watching out for Thea,” John tells her.

“How is she?” Felicity asks, shifting slightly so she can rest her head on the couch next to Oliver’s chest.

“All right. I think. We’re doing the best we can, but….”

“She doesn’t want to see him,” Felicity inserts, and she feels instantly guilty at how bitter she sounds.

“She’s scared, Felicity. We all are. It’s...it’s hard to see him like this.”

“I know,” Felicity sighs, scooting back farther so she can rest her head under Oliver’s chin. Oliver shifts closer to her with a quiet mumble of her name, but he doesn’t wake up.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around much,” John offers. “I’m just….”

“Scared,” Felicity whispers.

“Yeah,” Diggle answers, and his voice shakes just the slightest.

“It’s okay, John,” she assures him. “We’re all dealing with it in different ways.”

John nods, but he’s unsure how to respond. The two of them go back to watching the movie in silence until the growling of Oliver’s stomach wakes him up and Digg offers to cook dinner.

As the weeks go by, Diggle starts spending more time with Oliver. Oliver becomes more and more comfortable with John, and John with Oliver. She knows the two men have always been close - brothers more than friends - and it’s nice to see them bonding again.

They watch old comedies, mostly black-and-white ones, and sometimes they exercise. They don’t practice fighting moves like they used to, but they do stretches, situps and pushups, and a bit of yoga. After Oliver returns to the doctor and gets his leg out of the cast, they two of them take walks around the loft.

One day, Felicity actually catches them racing each other up and down the stairs. They’re laughing loudly as they run, like they’re little kids again. Though she finds it endearing as hell, Felicity has to use her Loud Voice to get them to stop, because they’re getting rowdy and she doesn’t want her not-so-little boys to hurt themselves. 

“Sorry,” John apologizes politely when they get back downstairs, panting from exertion. Meanwhile, Oliver actually signs the words,  _ Yes, Mom, _ to her before smiling mischievously.

“Oliver Queen, did you just sass me in sign language?” Felicity asks him incredulously.

Oliver shrugs, then kisses her on the cheek. Felicity feels herself blush, and she shakes her head. “Do you think being cute is going to distract me?” Felicity teases him, and Oliver just shrugs again and walks away.

And yeah, Oliver being cute really  _ is _ pretty distracting.

* * *

 

Meanwhile, the rest of Oliver’s loved ones do their part behind the scenes. During the day, Curtis works hard to keep Smoak Technologies running in Felicity’s absence, while at night, he helps the rest of Team Arrow find Oliver’s captors. With Diggle’s help, Felicity keeps tabs on the team’s progress, but it’s a slow, arduous process. While they all strongly suspect Prometheus is behind Oliver’s kidnapping and subsequent torture, they don’t have any proof, and they also don’t know Prometheus’ real identity. Lyla helps them out as best she can using her resources at ARGUS, but whoever took Oliver was very good at covering up their tracks. The team grows more and more discouraged as they hit dead end after dead end.

And yet, as Oliver slowly heals, there’s one person still absent from his side….

* * *

 

Since the first time she tried to talk to Oliver after they rescued him, Thea’s been back to see her brother three more times. The first was two days after Felicity brought him home: when she’d decided that she wanted to focus on finding the people who had done this to him.

The second time is nearly three weeks later.

She stops by unannounced with Roy, who apologizes profusely for not calling first. Sensing that something is really bothering the younger Queen, Felicity lets them in. But unfortunately, it’s one of Oliver’s bad days (the day after the reporter broke into the loft), and the sight of them sets him off.

“FELICITY!” Oliver shouts angrily before fleeing to the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.

“Thea, I’m so-”

“This was a mistake,” Thea says shakily. “I...I should have known better. I’m sorry.”

“Thea, wait,” Felicity begs. “Please. I know this looks bad, but Oliver’s just having a rough day, and-”

But Thea’s unwilling to listen, and she runs from the loft before anyone can stop her.

“Roy, what-”

“She’s been having nightmares,” Roy tells her, voice trembling slightly. “She had a really bad one last night, and she wanted to see him. I told her we should call first, just to be sure that Oliver was up to visitors, but she insisted that she had the right to see her brother if she wanted to. I don’t think she expected….” Roy sighs, gesturing lamely at the closed bathroom door.

Felicity shakes her head. “He’s not...he’s healing slowly, Roy. It’s going to take time.”

Roy nods. “I get that, and I know Thea understands, but...it’s hard for her to see him like this. It’s...it’s hard for all of us.”

“I know,” Felicity whispers, and as tears rise in her friend’s eyes she hugs him tightly.

Before he heads out after Thea, Felicity makes Roy promise that he’ll take care of Oliver’s sister.

“I always will,” Roy answers with a smile, and Felicity believes him. She rests a bit easier knowing that Thea Queen has someone like Roy Harper looking out for her.

The third and last time that Thea comes to visit her brother is exactly one month after his rescue.

She calls in advance this time, and Felicity assures her that today is a perfect day to pay him a visit, as it’s one of Oliver’s “good days.”

When Roy and Thea arrive, Oliver’s drawing happily with Donna. Roy smiles as he introduces himself to Felicity’s mother, and Thea watches Oliver as he draws.

“You never...you never used to draw when we were kids, Ollie,” Thea says quietly. Oliver looks up at her and frowns slightly. Then he shrugs and goes back to his drawing.

“I never knew he was so good,” Roy says with awe as he looks over the pictures posted on the wall.

“Neither did I,” Thea responds, and there’s a sharp edge to her voice.

Roy frowns, gazing at Thea quietly, and he runs a hand along her back.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks gently, but Thea pulls away from him.

“Has he drawn anything else?” Thea asks, and Felicity knows exactly what she’s getting at.

“Not everything he draws is quite this...happy,” Felicity supplies, and she moves over to the bookshelf where she’s stored two art pads filled with Oliver’s “Bad Drawings.” “Some of this is...it’s pretty dark, Speedy. Are you sure-”

Thea grabs the pads from her without a word, and Felicity swallows hard as Thea starts rifling through the pages. Roy watches over her shoulder, wincing from time to time or gasping in sympathy. He gazes over at Oliver, who’s still busy putting the finishing touches on a drawing of himself and Tommy as children, playing Cops and Robbers in the woods behind the Queen Mansion.

“I can’t believe how much he’s been through,” Roy whispers, turning back to look at the drawings with Thea. “How can he-”

“I’ve seen enough,” Thea bites out, and she shoves the art pads back into Felicity’s arms. 

“Baby, wait,” Roy tries to soothe her, but Thea’s already moved away from them.

She walks over toward Oliver, her gait stiff and her muscles tense, and Felicity’s not sure she’s ever seen Thea Queen so angry. But as Thea watches Oliver draw, her body loosens a bit, and she lets out a long deep sigh as she kneels next to her brother.

“Ollie...I don’t know if you can understand me, but I  _ swear, _ I’m going to make that son of a bitch pay for what he did to you.”

Oliver stiffens, his hand pausing over his drawing. He looks up at Thea, eyes wide and confused.

“Felicity?” he says in confusion. Thea flinches at the word, and as she stands, her body grows stiff and tense once more.

“Oliver, sweetie, it’s okay,” Felicity assures him, walking closer to the Queen siblings. “Thea’s just upset and-”

“You’re damn right I’m upset!” Thea shouts, and when she turns to face Felicity there’s a fire in her eyes that quite frankly scares her.

...And it must scare Oliver, too.

_ “Felicity…”  _ Oliver whines, shrinking back against the couch, and Felicity’s hands clench into fists at her sides.

“Thea, you need to calm down. You’re scaring him.”

Thea’s muscles visibly relax at Felicity’s words, and she turns around to look down at her brother. Oliver flinches under her gaze...and the sight of it seems to break something deep inside her.

Thea turns back to Roy, her shoulders sagging.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she tells him. “I can’t. I can’t keep pretending that everything’s going to be okay.”

“Honey,” Roy says placatingly. “You know it’s going to take time for him to-”

“I can’t stand to see him like this,” Thea whispers, and her voice breaks as tears rise in her eyes. “I can’t….” 

She’s breathing heavily now, and she glances around the room like she’s looking for something to calm her down. Her gaze travels over the drawings on the walls, over Roy and Felicity, and then….

Her gaze lands on the art pads Felicity still clutches in her arms.

The change is instantaneous.

Thea stands up straight, her body hardening like steel, and when she meets Felicity’s eyes again there’s a resolve there she’s seen only a handful of times and in one other person.

“I’m going to find him.” Thea states it like a fact; like there’s no other way that this could play out. “I’m going to find him...and I’m going to make him suffer.”

Felicity forces her feet to move her forward.

“Speedy, wait-”

But Thea’s already gone.

* * *

 

Felicity calls Roy every couple days to check up on Thea, and though he says that she’s managing, he admits that she’s not doing it very well. Roy assures Felicity that he, Diggle, and the rest of Team Arrow are watching her as best they can while they beat the streets looking for intel. But she’s taken to becoming violent during missions - letting her anger get the best of her - and they’ve had to pull her back on more than one occasion.

Two weeks after Thea storms out of the loft, Roy calls to tell her that Thea’s getting worse. 

“She almost beat a man to death last night, Felicity,” Roy tells her, voice trembling over the phone. “I was able to stop her in time, but he’s in a coma. The doctors still aren’t sure he’ll ever wake up. He was a drug dealer and an abusive father, but….” Roy trails off, at a loss for words.

Felicity sighs, clenching the phone tighter in her hands. She looks over at Oliver, who’s quietly watching an old black and white movie on TV with her mother. 

“I’ve started spending some time out of the loft,” Felicity tells him. “I’ve tried inviting Thea out with me. She used to love our girl time. We’d go to the movies or get massages or spend ungodly amounts of money at the mall.” Felicity smiles as she remembers the many days she’s spent bonding with Thea ever since the summer she and Oliver returned to Star City. “Yesterday I tried tempting her with a free manicure and a day at the spa, but...she’s not answering my texts or my calls.”

Roy groans. “I tried talking to her about that. She just said….” Roy pauses, as though thinking twice about what he was going to say. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter what she said,” he finishes dismissively.

“Why, Roy? What’d she say?” Felicity asks.

“Felicity, it’s not important, really.”

“Roy William Harper, what did Thea say?” Felicity bites out, and she can practically hear Roy shudder over the phone at the use of his full name.

“She said that while you’re off getting your nails done, she’ll be busy doing something useful,” Roy answers so quickly that she almost misses it. “But she’s hurting, Felicity. She’s in pain and-”

“Roy, it’s okay,” Felicity assures him. “I understand.”

And while she means it, there’s still a tiny part of her that wonders if maybe Thea has a point.

Roy sighs heavily. “She doesn’t really mean it, Liss. I promise. She’s in pain, and she’s angry, and...and the only way she can let that anger out is by beating up bad guys for information. It’s not ideal, but...but that’s how she’s coping. We’re all coping differently.”

Felicity nods, knowing exactly what he means. “I’m sorry I haven’t been any help to the team, Roy. It’s just that...I can’t focus on revenge when Oliver needs me.”

“We get that, Felicity. We all do, I promise. It’s just that...Thea feels useless when it comes to helping Oliver because he doesn’t even recognize her. But this - finding the people responsible for hurting her brother - this is something she  _ can _ do.” 

“Yeah,” Felicity agrees, thinking back to a time not so long ago when Oliver had acted much the same way his sister was acting now.

When Felicity had woken up from her coma after the shooting, she’d been faced with the prospect of various long term and debilitating consequences. Her recovery had depended solely on her doctors, who performed numerous tests and surgeries to try and save her, and she knew that Oliver had felt helpless in the face of her possible paralysis. He’d become hellbent on revenge, beating the streets (and Darhk’s Ghosts) for information while the rest of her loved ones stayed by her side. Now Thea’s found herself in the same boat, and Felicity wonders briefly if the desire for revenge can be a hereditary trait.

And yet, despite everything, Felicity doesn’t blame Thea for how she’s reacting. As Roy said, they’re all coping in different ways. Just as Felicity never blamed Oliver for how he acted, she knows that Oliver would never blame his sister for how she’s acting, either.

“I’ve tried to get her to come by and see him again, but she refuses,” Roy continues.

“She’s hellbent on revenge,” Felicity supplies, and Roy lets out a quiet “yeah” of agreement.

“She’s so much like her brother,” Felicity muses. “I just hope it doesn’t get her killed.”

“Hey, we’re doing everything we can to keep that from happening, Felicity.I promise.”

And while it was never a question in her mind, it feels good to hear the words anyway.

“I know you are, Roy. I know.”

They sit quietly for a time, both pondering everything that’s going on.

“I should get going,” Roy finally breaks the silence. “Thea wants to get an early start on patrols tonight.”

“Okay,” Felicity agrees. “But will you do me a favor? Can you try and convince Thea to spend some time with me? I just want to talk to her. Oliver’s doing better, and I think she can get through to him if she’ll just spend a little bit of time with him.”

“I will,” Roy agrees. “And will you do something for me in return?”

“Of course.”

“Take good care of Oliver.”

Felicity smiles. “Always.”

“And don’t worry too much about Thea. John and I are keeping an eye on her. You have enough on your plate with Oliver. He needs you, Felicity.”

“I know he does,” Felicity responds. She gazes over at her mother and Oliver, and her heart aches when she finds that they’ve both fallen fast asleep under her worn out green blanket: Donna’s head resting on Oliver’s shoulder as he snores quietly. “I know.”

After she hangs up, Felicity uses her phone to snap a quick picture of her sleeping family and heads upstairs to take a long hot bath.

* * *

 

Roy continues to call Felicity every few days over the coming weeks in order to keep her informed on Thea’s condition, as Thea still refuses to answer Felicity’s calls or texts. Felicity begins to wonder if Thea resents her for how close she is to her brother, but Roy assures her that that’s not true. Felicity’s not so sure, but she tries not to let it bother her too much, because she knows that Thea’s hurting just like the rest of them.

Felicity can’t begin to imagine what Thea’s going through. Oliver’s been distant at best and scared at worst on the few times his sister has been by, and she can’t imagine how hopeless Thea must feel, thinking that she might never get through to her big brother.  

Lance tries to get Thea to come back to City Hall and help him as deputy mayor, but no amount of encouragement from Roy or Diggle can convince her that it’s a good idea to go back to work and take her mind off things.

“She doesn’t  _ want  _ to take her mind off things,” Roy tells Felicity one day. “She’s too focused on revenge.”

John splits his time amongst everyone: helping Thea and the rest of Team Arrow, spending time with baby Sara and Lyla, and staying with Oliver. He wants revenge like the rest of the team, but he can also see that Felicity is getting through to Oliver; slowly but surely.

And so Felicity focuses her time and attention on helping Oliver get better, trusting that Roy and John and the rest of Team Arrow will keep Oliver’s sister safe as she looks for answers.

* * *

 

Oliver continues to have Good Days and Bad Days...and eventually, the good begin to far outweigh the bad. Even as he continues to draw painful images from his past, he starts to draw more and more happy memories - particularly from their summer away together - and it makes her hopeful to think that the good memories are starting to take more of a hold in his mind. Felicity sees it as a sign that he’s healing, and when Dr. Martinez pays Oliver another visit, she agrees with her.

With consistent use of therapy (both artistic and otherwise), Felicity’s daily reading sessions (they’ve long since finished  _ Harry Potter _ and have moved on to the  _ Lord of the Rings  _ trilogy), plenty of sleep and exercise, and her mother’s help, Oliver continues to look and act and feel better than he was when she brought him home more than two months ago.

And Felicity finally begins to believe that things are looking up for Oliver.

* * *

 

Then one morning, she gets a call from John.

“It’s Prometheus. He’s the one responsible for what happened to Oliver. We have proof, Felicity.”

Felicity shudders. They’d strongly suspected Prometheus was behind Oliver’s kidnapping and torture from the beginning, but they’d never been 100% sure. She looks over at Oliver, who’s drawing quietly with her mother.

“Do we know his real identity?” Felicity asks, her grip tightening on the phone.

“No, we don’t. But we may have a lead on where to find him.”

“Good,” Felicity states, her voice hard as steel. 

“We need to do a bit more research before we act on anything. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Thank you, John.”

Felicity hangs up the phone, squeezing it so tightly in her fist that her knuckles turn white.

“Felicity?” Oliver asks curiously from the couch, and she plasters a smile onto her face as she turns to him.

“Everything’s fine, honey. Will you show me what you’re working on?”

* * *

 

Felicity skips work that day. Instead she stays home with Oliver and her mother, drawing her own terrible pictures and watching daytime talk shows.

She glances over at her phone every once in awhile, waiting for a call.

She never gets one.

Instead, around ten o’clock that night, she gets a hard knock on the door.

“John?” Felicity asks in confusion as she pulls the door open, and the look on her friend’s face makes her blood run cold. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Thea.”

* * *

 

Felicity’s never left Oliver so late at night, but she doesn’t have a choice.

“Oliver, there’s something very important I need to do,” she tells him carefully. “ I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone for, but Mom will stay up with you until you’re ready to go to bed. Okay, honey?”

Oliver looks at Felicity closely, brows furrowed in confusion. He glances at Diggle over her shoulder, and she knows he can tell that something’s upset them.

“I’ll tell you all about it when I get home, sweetie, but right now I need to leave.” Felicity squeezes his hand tightly, gazing over at her mother.

“We’ll be just fine, baby,” Donna assures her. “Isn’t that right, Oliver?”

Oliver looks over his shoulder at Donna, and he knows she’s hiding something from him, too, but Felicity doesn’t have time to explain everything to him. Felicity looks imploringly at her mother, and she mouths the word “cookies” behind Oliver’s back.

Donna’s eyes light up, and she nods. “Why don’t we bake some cookies while she’s gone, Oliver? We can make your  _ favorite _ ,” she offers, singing the last word. 

Felicity can’t see Oliver’s face, but he pulls his hand out of hers and signs,  _ Yes, please,  _ and Felicity lets out a sigh as she gathers up her things to leave.

Donna smiles at him and claps her hands, bouncing in her seat. “Perfect! We can have a fresh batch waiting for Felicity when she gets home.”

Felicity laughs lightly as she hops into her shoes, and when Oliver turns back to her and grins Felicity smiles affectionately at him. 

“I’ll be home as soon as I can, honey,” she assures him, and she moves back over to him and plants a gentle kiss on top of his head. “Be good while I’m gone, okay?”

Oliver nods, and Felicity throws her purse over her shoulder and follows John out the door.

Once they’re in the car, Diggle drives off toward Star City General. After shooting her mother a quick text to let her know what’s going on, Felicity fiddles nervously with her phone as John tells her what happened.

“We got a lead on where Prometheus would be tonight: a warehouse where some shady deal was supposed to go down. We were all suited up and ready to get the son of a bitch, but then Curtis showed us video footage of the warehouse. Prometheus had backup;  _ a lot  _ of backup. There were too many of them for us to take on. Roy and I agreed it was too dangerous to go, and I called off the mission, but Thea didn’t want to back down.”

Felicity watches the street signs streak past them, trying to picture Thea going toe-to-toe with an ex-soldier twice her size.

“I reminded her of the time Oliver almost died when he faced Prometheus by himself, but she didn’t want to hear it. I had half a mind to tie her to a chair to keep her from leaving, but she doesn’t go by the codename ‘Speedy’ for nothing. I tried to grab her but she got past me. She set off some of the knockout gas canisters and fled the lair. We tried to follow her, but the gas got to us. We went after her as soon as we woke up. When we found her we were afraid she….”

John trails off, and when he takes a corner too sharply, Felicity whimpers, clutching tightly to the door handle.

“She’s alive, Felicity, but...Prometheus’ men beat her up  _ bad.  _ We took a lot of them down when we got there, but most of them fled with Prometheus. Luckily she got there before the deal went down, which kept her out of any crossfire. Probably saved her life.”

Tires squeal as John pulls into the hospital parking lot, and Felicity lets out a deep breath as John parks the car.

“She was still awake when I left, but she might be sleeping now. A few of her ribs are broken, her left leg is busted, and they’re watching her for signs of internal bleeding and concussion. She’s not out of the woods yet, but...Dr. Schwartz thinks she’s going to be okay.”

Felicity nods, staring at the dashboard.

“She was lucky,” Felicity whispers shakily, and she turns to John just in time to watch him pound his fists against the steering wheel.

“She shouldn’t have been out there in the first place, Felicity! We were supposed to keep her safe. We were...we promised to keep her  _ safe _ .”

Tears rise in Diggle’s eyes, and Felicity reaches across the car and puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it tightly.

“You did everything you could, John. You know how Queen women are; if there’s something she really wants to do, there’s not a power on this earth that could ever stop her.”

He shakes his head, and Felicity notices that his hands are trembling around the steering wheel.

“We were supposed to protect her.  _ I  _ was supposed to protect her. Not just for her, but….”

He turns to her, not bothering to fight the tears streaming down his face.

“I failed him, Felicity. I was supposed to keep Thea safe because Oliver couldn’t, and I...I  _ failed. _ ”

Felicity shakes her head, squeezing his shoulder once more. And when John lowers his head and cries, his body shaking with silent sobs, Felicity scoots as close to him as the confines of the car will allow and wraps her arms around her friend.

“But she’s  _ alive, _ John,” she whispers against his shoulder. “Thea’s still alive: because of Roy and Curtis and the team...because of  _ you _ . You haven’t failed anyone, John Diggle."

Felicity rubs his back gently, whispering soothing words, and she helps him let go.

Eventually, Digg’s body stops trembling, and his hands unclench from around the steering wheel as he turns and hugs her back.

“You’ve had a lot of practice with that, haven’t you,” he says sadly, and it’s not a question so much as a statement of fact, because he  _ knows _ .

Felicity pulls away from him and nods. “I’m getting pretty good at it, huh?” she teases, smiling softly at him, and John laughs.

“Scary good, actually,” he answers, and he dries his face and takes a long, deep breath. “Come on, let’s go check on Speedy.”

* * *

Felicity and Diggle briefly check in with Curtis, Rene, Evelyn, and Rory, who’re all sitting quietly in the waiting room. The nurse informs her that only two people can visit at a time, and Digg offers to sit outside with the others. Felicity heads to Thea’s room alone, gently knocking on the door before she enters.

“Hey,” Roy says quietly as she walks into the room. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Felicity nods, and she gazes at Thea. The younger Queen has bandages all over her body (at least the parts that Felicity can see) and her left leg is covered in a cast.

“Hey,” Thea says, her voice shaky. 

Felicity takes in the sight of Thea lying in the bed, and suddenly her mind is flashing back to the dozens of times she’s seen Oliver lying on a table in the lair just like this: bandaged and bruised and mercifully alive, and yet….

Felicity’s hands clench into fists at her sides, and her face hardens. Roy and Thea must both notice the change in her, because Roy shifts anxiously in his chair and Thea takes a deep breath.

“Felicity, before you say anything-”

“No,” Felicity bites out, taking a step closer to Thea’s bed, and the younger girl looks taken aback at the harshness of her tone. “No. I’m going to speak and you’re going to listen, Thea Queen."

Thea opens her mouth to respond, but no sound comes out, and so she nods instead.

“ _ What the hell were you thinking, Speedy?”  _ Felicity asks with a shake of her head. Tears of anger rise in Felicity’s eyes, but she fights them back.

“Felicity-”

“No! No, I said I’m going to speak and you’re going to listen. What you did tonight was selfish, Thea. It was selfish and stupid and I don’t ever want to hear about you doing something like this again!”

For a second, Thea looks like she’s about to argue with her, but Felicity’s not having any of it. She stands tall and fierce and unbent, trying hard to be every bit a Queen woman as the girl lying in the hospital bed in front of her. She’s been down this road before with Oliver. She’s watched him make stupid calls; watched him go into situations alone when he should have had backup. She’s never backed down with him before, and she doesn’t plan to do that with Thea, either. Thea Queen can be every bit as stubborn as her brother, and she doesn’t need coddling right now; what she needs is a wakeup call, and that’s what Felicity is going to give her.

“Your brother is  _ alive _ , Thea. Oliver is alive and he’s trying to heal. How is he going to feel if you die for some vendetta?”

Thea’s shoulders slump back against the pillows, and she watches Felicity quietly.

“Oliver’s  _ here _ , Speedy. He’s here and he needs our help. He needs us to be there for him. He doesn’t need  _ this _ . He doesn’t need revenge or justice or for you to get yourself hurt, or worse. Your brother needs  _ you _ , Thea. He may not know it right now, but he does. We’re going to get him back, and when we do, he’s going to need you to be  _ alive.” _

Tears fall silently down Thea’s cheeks now, and Felicity lets out a deep sigh as her anger dissipates. But she’s not done talking yet.

“Oliver’s risked so much for you, Thea. He’s sacrificed more than you can possibly understand. He gave his own life over to the League of Assassins in order to save you. Getting yourself killed would be a crummy way to repay him.”

The words are harsh, and they leave a bitter taste in Felicity’s mouth...but they do the trick.

Thea lets out a sob, and Felicity closes the distance between them and hugs her carefully.

_ “I’m sorry,”  _ Thea whimpers against her shoulder, her tears soaking Felicity’s blouse. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know, sweetie, I know,” Felicity responds, rubbing soothing circles along her back.

“I love you,” Thea whispers, clinging tighter to Felicity, and Felicity sighs as she plants a kiss against the top of her little sister’s head.

“I love you, too.”

* * *

 

Felicity sits with Thea for a time while Roy goes off in search of some hot tea. She convinces Thea to stay in the hospital for a week like Dr. Schwartz has recommended, and she also gets her to agree to lay off patrols for a while once she gets home so that she can heal properly. When Felicity suggests that Thea spend some time with her brother, she’s happy to find that the younger Queen agrees with her.

“I want to see him,” Thea says with a nod. “I...I  _ need _ to see him.”

Felicity sighs happily.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Felicity tells her.

When Roy returns with two cups of tea, Felicity takes her gratefully. 

“I should get home to Oliver,” she says, glancing down at Thea. “I’ll do my best to get him here tomorrow, if you want me to.”

Thea nods. “I’d like that,” she says with a smile.

“Good,” Felicity answers. Then she leaves Roy and Thea alone and heads back to the waiting room to ask John to drive her home.

* * *

 

It’s a little after one when Felicity gets back. The room is dark, the TV quietly playing an old episode of  _ I Love Lucy _ . The smell of fresh baked cookies greets her, and she takes a deep breath, letting out a long sigh of contentment as the familiar scent invades her nostrils. She’s dying to follow her nose to the source of the delicious aroma, but first, she needs to check on Oliver and her mother.

She finds Donna asleep in her chair. Felicity smiles, then grabs a blanket off the floor next to her and carefully drapes it over her mother’s sleeping form. Donna stirs slightly, but she doesn’t wake up.

Felicity turns to Oliver next, and she finds him sitting at the coffee table, drawing aimlessly by the soft light coming from the television. He’s colored an entire sheet of paper in varying shades of red, and though he looks up at her and smiles, he doesn’t stop coloring. 

Felicity spots a plate of cookies on the table and she takes one. She bites down, moaning appreciatively as the ginger molasses flavor explodes on her tongue. Oliver looks at her strangely, and she laughs around her bite of cookie before picking up another and holding it out to him. Oliver puts his red marker down and takes it, and they sit quietly on the floor and finish the plate of cookies together.

When they’re done, Felicity explains what happened. She tells Oliver that Thea was hurt, and when his eyes grow wide, she assures him that Thea’s going to be okay. She just needs time to heal, plenty of bedrest, and some sleep.

_ And cookies?  _ Oliver signs.

Felicity smiles at him.

“And cookies,” she agrees.

They sit silently for a minute, and then Felicity thinks of something.

She stands up, flicks on a small table lamp, and moves to one of the bookcases, taking down a few old Queen Family photo albums that still reside on its shelves. Then she sits on the floor with Oliver and goes through them with him, showing him pictures of himself and Thea growing up. Oliver’s told her some of the stories behind the photos, but for the most part they flip through the albums silently. Oliver ponders over some of the images longer than others. He stops for a long time on a picture of a young Thea chasing a puppy around the mansion’s giant backyard. 

When they’ve closed the last album, Felicity asks Oliver if he wants to go visit his sister in the hospital. Oliver nods his head “yes” without hesitation. Felicity tells him that they’ll go first thing in the morning, but for now, they should get some sleep. As Oliver brings his dishes into the kitchen, Felicity wakes her mother and - after assuring her that Thea is going to be okay - she sends her up to bed.

Felicity climbs into her own bed with Oliver, and she rests her head on his chest, letting the sound of his heartbeat lull her off to sleep.

* * *

 

She wakes a few hours later to find that she’s alone.

She sits up in bed, noting that it’s still dark outside. The light in the dining room is on, and Felicity sighs as she gets up and shuffles tiredly over to where Oliver sits at the table

“You should be sleeping, baby. What’s wrong?”

As it turns out, nothing is wrong, but there was something that Oliver wanted to do.

“Felicity?” he asks carefully, and he shows her the drawing he’s almost finished: a bouquet of flowers held in the front paws of a dog, with the words “Get Well Soon” written across the top. Felicity recognizes the dog from the pictures she showed him that night, and the story finally comes back to her.

This was their pet dog growing up. The Queen siblings used to chase the dog around their backyard all the time, and Thea would always tease Oliver that she was faster than him even though he was ten years older than her. Then Oliver would challenge her to a race, even though he knew he would lose. The game would always end with Thea chasing Oliver around the backyard and tackling him to the ground.

It was how she’d earned the nickname “Speedy.”

“She’s going to love it, sweetie,” Felicity assures him, squeezing his shoulder gently. “Why don’t we go to bed and you can finish it in the morning before we go?”

* * *

 

Early the next afternoon, Oliver, Felicity, and Donna head to the hospital. Oliver clings tightly to a bag containing the picture he drew for Thea and a ziploc filled with cookies. He looks scared, and Felicity’s not sure if it’s because he’s outside or because he’s nervous about seeing his sister. When he starts unconsciously scratching at his left wrist, Felicity pulls his hand away and squeezes it tight.

“It’s okay, honey. Thea’s going to be so happy to see you.”

Oliver nods, gazing anxiously down at the bag in his lap.

She doesn’t let go of his hand until she and Oliver enter Thea’s room.

“Hey, Speedy,” Felicity greets when she sees that the younger girl is awake. “How are you feeling today?”

Thea gives Felicity a weak smile. “Tired,” she admits. “I just woke up.”

“She slept the whole night through,” Roy says, standing up from his chair at her side and moving to hug Felicity. “It’s been a long time since….”

He trails off, and Felicity knows what he’s implying.

“No nightmares,” Thea affirms, trying to sit up straighter. Roy hurries back to her side, pushing a button to bring up the back of the bed. Thea groans loudly as she sits up, the movement pulling on her sore and bruised body.

_ “Felicity?” _ Oliver asks nervously, and as Thea settles back against the pillow she looks at her brother. She stares at him for a long time, like she doesn’t know what to say. As the silence begins to stretch into uncomfortable territory, Roy clears his throat.

“I’m gonna go grab some food from the cafeteria. Do you guys want anything?”

“Coffee,” Felicity answers, and when Oliver tugs on her sleeve she smiles and adds, “and hot chocolate if they have it.”

Roy smiles at Oliver and nods before leaving the room.

Felicity looks between Oliver and Thea, who both seem incredibly anxious. Thea looks like she’s desperately searching for the right words, and Felicity realizes it’s up to her to get the ball rolling.

“Why don’t you give Thea her present, sweetie?” she says to Oliver, gesturing at the bag he clutches tightly in his right hand.

Oliver nods, then moves slowly toward his sister. Thea watches him closely, and as Felicity follows Oliver further into the room she notices the tears welling up in Thea’s eyes. 

Finally, Oliver stops at his sister’s bedside, and he lifts up the bag.

“Felicity,” he says, holding it out to her.

“Use your words, honey,” Felicity encourages him, and Oliver sighs. He sets the bag down on the edge of the bed so he can sign a few short phrases. Thea gasps as she watches him, and a few tears fall down her cheeks.

“He’s really learned sign language?” Thea asks in awe, and Felicity smiles.

“My mom’s been teaching him some of the basics. He still won’t verbally say anything other than my name, but we can communicate with him better now. He just said ‘Hello, good afternoon,’ and ‘I’m sorry.’”

Thea smiles warmly up at her brother. “I’m okay, Oliver,” she assures him. “I’m tired, and a little sore, but I’ll be fine.”

Oliver smiles and nods, and he picks up the bag and holds it out to her again. This time, Thea takes it. She pulls out the cookies first.

“My mom’s best,” Felicity explains. “Ginger molasses cookies. Oliver helped her bake them last night. Better than hospital Jell-o any day.”

Thea smiles, setting the cookies on her bedside table for later. Then she pulls out the drawing, unfolding it carefully. She gasps, clenching it tight, and her hands start to shake just the slightest as she stares at it.

“Oh my god,” she whispers, and the tears spill over suddenly and all at once. She starts to cry, staring down at the drawing, and Oliver tenses at the unexpected display, taking a few steps back from the bed  like he’s ready to flee.

“Ollie, wait! Please,” Thea begs him, holding out a hand, and Oliver stops. Felicity places her own hands at Oliver’s lower back and coaxes him back toward the bed. Oliver moves until he’s right next to Thea, continuing to stare at her anxiously. 

Finally, Thea finds the courage to speak. 

“ _ Thank you _ ,” she says, her voice shaky and wet from her tears, and without warning she drops the paper to the bed, reaches up, and throws her arms around her brother’s neck. She cries out as the movement pulls on her broken ribs, but Oliver moves on quick instinct. He wraps his arms around her, bends down, and gently lowers her back onto the bed. Then he rubs his hands along her back and holds her while she cries.

“I missed you so much, Ollie,” Thea whispers against his shoulder, and Oliver tenses in her arms.

“Felicity?” Oliver whispers, and that hint of recognition is back in his voice. Something about this moment is deeply familiar to him, and Felicity hopes that maybe this time, something will break through. But as Oliver’s body goes stiff, Thea pulls away, and the moment passes once again.

“I’m sorry,” Thea apologizes. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve….” She wipes at her eyes, taking a few deep breathes, and Oliver shakes his head. 

_ No sorry, _ he signs, and Felicity explains that he doesn’t want Thea to apologize. Then he uses both hands to sign seven small words. Thea laughs as she watches him, wiping the rest of the tears off her cheeks.

“What’d he say?” she asks, and Felicity fights back her own tears as she answers.

“ ‘Sister...I am happy to see you.’ ”

Thea smiles warmly up at her brother.

“I’m happy to see you, too,” she tells him, and when she puts a hand on his arm, Oliver lets her pull him down and kiss him gently on the cheek.

 

_...tbc... _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always for reading and commenting. You guys are the best! :)


	10. Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE: story tags have been updated. If you prefer to read with warnings, please check the last tag.
> 
> Also, the lovely @smoakyfelicity made me a graphic for my story! It's beautiful and gorgeous and I love it (and Jess!) to pieces. <3

****

 

**< \-- Chapter Nine: Memories -->**

 

Over the next week, Oliver and Felicity visit Thea in the hospital for a few hours a day as she recuperates. Oliver brings his sister a new batch of cookies each day (which gives him an excuse to try out new recipes with Donna) as well as a drawing. Thea puts every single drawing up on the wall over her bed - much the same as Felicity has done at the loft.

 

The day before Thea is due to return home, Felicity suggests that Oliver bring over some photo albums. Oliver agrees, though he seems slightly nervous.

 

Felicity sits in a chair off to the side of the room as Oliver and Thea thumb through the old albums together. Once in awhile, Thea stops to reminisce, and Oliver smiles fondly as she talks. He nods or shakes his head, and on rare occasion he’ll use a bit of sign language, which Felicity is quick to translate.

 

After two hours, the siblings are on to their last album, and Felicity can’t remember the last time she heard Thea talk this much, or saw Oliver so engaged in something that didn’t involve her. She excuses herself to grab some coffee in an attempt to give them some quiet time alone.

 

When she comes back half an hour later (with a cup of hot chocolate for Oliver, of course) she finds Thea fast asleep in bed, an album open in her lap. Her body is inclined toward her brother, who’s snoring quietly in his chair, his head resting on the bed beside Thea.

 

Felicity smiles, then puts Oliver’s drink on the table next to him and leaves quietly.

 

She takes a long walk around the hospital grounds, and when she returns half an hour later to find Oliver silently watching his little sister sleep, she takes him home.

 

* * *

 

The day after she leaves the hospital, Thea comes over to the loft for the first time in nearly two months.

 

Oliver spends some time showing her how to make Donna’s famous ginger molasses cookies, and Felicity helps out by showing Thea some signs so she can understand him better.

 

Once the cookies have been put in to bake, Felicity suggests a movie. Oliver picks out _Mary Poppins_ , which - according to Thea - was their favorite movie to watch together when they were growing up.

 

“I’ve lost track of how many times we’ve seen this movie,” Thea sighs nostalgically, settling back against the couch. “What do you think, Ollie? Fifty? Sixty?”

 

Oliver shakes his head, then flattens out his hands and taps his fingertips together repeatedly.

 

“More than that?” Felicity asks, and Oliver nods.

 

“A hundred?” Thea suggests, and Oliver shakes his head, tapping his fingertips together again.

 

“More than a hundred?” Felicity laughs. “How about a thousand?”

 

Oliver grins, nodding his head in agreement.

 

“There’s no way we’ve watched this movie a thousand times, Oliver,” Thea chides him, and Oliver just laughs.

 

As many times as they’ve watched it, however, it’s clear that neither of the Queen siblings is sick of it. Thea sings along (not half badly) to all of the songs, and Oliver bops his head to the beat. Felicity spends more time watching the two of them than actually watching the movie, which she’s seen more than a few times herself.

 

When “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” comes on, Thea actually gets up and dances ( _slowly,_ since she’s still healing) and Felicity joins her. The two of them dance carefully around the living room as Dick Van Dyke and Julie Andrews sing. Thea plays the part of Mary while Felicity picks up Bert’s part, and Oliver watches them, smiling widely. When the song’s over, the two girls collapse onto the couch, panting and laughing.

 

When Felicity catches her breath again, she looks over at Oliver and finds that tears are pouring down his cheeks.

 

“What’s wrong, honey?” she asks with concern, but Oliver just shakes his head and smiles.

 

“Felicity!” he says, and he signs the words, _I’m happy._

 

Felicity grins, and she’s just about to respond when Thea beats her to it.

 

“I’m happy, too,” she tells him.

 

Oliver smiles even wider, and he turns to his sister and hugs her without being prompted. Thea gasps in surprise before she hugs him back, just as Felicity’s phone rings with the promise of dinner.

 

* * *

 

After stuffing themselves with Chinese food, the three of them sit at the dining room table to draw.

 

Thea turns out to be a decent artist (though still not as good as Oliver). The first thing she draws is a picture of herself and Oliver in three parts. In the first, a ten year old Oliver holds baby Thea in this arms. In the second, twenty year old Oliver hugs his little sister as they cry over the death of their childhood dog. And in the third, Oliver hugs her after coming home from the island five years ago.

 

Oliver tears up when she shows him the drawing, and he smiles and points to the wall behind them.

 

“Yes, please,” Thea responds, her voice trembling slightly.

 

Oliver wanders along the wall, looking for the perfect spot to put it, and he finds it over by the mantel. He hangs it next to a picture he drew of Thea hugging him in the bunker with his suit in the background: the day she found out he was the Arrow and thanked him for it.

 

_“Oh, Ollie,”_ Thea gasps as she looks at their drawings hanging side by side. She hugs her brother tight as she starts to cry, and when Oliver hugs her back he whispers the word “ _Fe-LI-ci-ty”_ against the top of her head.

 

Thea tenses slightly in his arms, pulling away from him in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

 

Felicity opens her mouth to explain, but then Oliver puts up a hand and shakes his head.

 

Then he signs something….

 

...and Felicity gasps.

 

“What? What’d he say?” Thea asks nervously, and Felicity bites her lower lip to keep from crying.

 

It’s the first time he’s ever signed those three little words.

 

“ ‘Sister...I love you.’ “

 

And Thea sobs as she holds her brother close and tells him that she loves him, too.

 

* * *

 

Reuniting with Thea does wonders for Oliver.

 

Over the next few weeks, he begins to show even more signs of improvement.

 

He has less freakouts and panic attacks, and the nightmares he has now are mild in comparison to the ones he had when Felicity first rescued him. She’s able to wake him with just a few encouraging calls of his name, and it takes much less time to calm him down afterward.

 

His memory also begins to improve. When she asks him if he remembers certain things that he couldn’t recall two months ago he’s more likely to say yes. When Thea brings over some new photo albums and scrapbooks for them to look through, Oliver smiles at the pages as more and more of his happy memories come back to him.

 

Felicity also shows him a few albums from that blissful summer they spent away from Star City, and Oliver devotes an entire day to drawing pictures of their time together during those six months. One particular drawing of her lying on a private beach wearing nothing but a very sheer covering of silk causes her to blush, memories of their not so innocent times coming back to her.

 

Oliver continues to get healthier physically, too. His leg, wrist, and knee have all healed, and the cuts and gashes along his body have scarred over. He puts on weight easily now, and you wouldn’t know to look at him that three months ago he’d been nearly starved to death.

 

Oliver doesn’t stop feeling self conscious about his appearance, though. From time to time, Felicity catches him gazing long and hard at himself in the mirror. He fixates a lot on his scars - both old and new - running his fingers along their rough lines and looking at them distastefully, especially the new one along his inner right thigh. She notices that those cuts which have been reopened - while they’ve faded to white like the others - aren’t healing as well as they did the first time.

 

One day, Felicity finds Oliver standing naked in front of the full length mirror in her bedroom, trailing his fingers along the round puncture wounds at his left hip. Whoever reopened the scars left by the shark bite did a shoddy job, and the marks look rough and uneven now. She can’t imagine how much it must’ve hurt to have someone digging into his flesh like that.

 

Oliver moans quietly as he starts to scratch at the marks, like he’s trying to make them disappear.

 

“Don’t do that, honey,” Felicity says, and she grabs his hand between both of hers and pulls it away from his side. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

 

Oliver shakes his head.

 

_“_ _Felicityyy,”_ he whines softly, and he takes his hand out of hers and signs, _It’s ugly._

 

“Oh, Oliver,” Felicity sighs, and she stands on her tiptoes and kisses him gently on the cheek. “Your scars aren’t ugly.”

 

Oliver shakes his head and signs the word “ugly” again, and Felicity finds herself wishing she'd never bought him all those ASL books to look at, because she never would've taught him that word herself.

 

“They’re _not_ ,” Felicity assures him. “They could never be ugly. Do you want to know why?”

 

Oliver frowns, and he wrings his hands together like he wants to say something. Eventually, he stops, and he says her name with a nod.

 

“Because they remind me of how strong you are,” Felicity tells him, and Oliver’s mouth drops open slightly. “They remind me of how brave you are; of how you’ve never stopped fighting.” She grabs both of his hands, squeezing them tightly between her own. “They remind me that you are _a_ _good man_ : a good man with a good heart who’s been through more than his fair share of bad and come out stronger in spite of _all of it.”_

 

Oliver’s hands begin to shake in hers, and as he starts to cry silently, Felicity brings them to her lips and kisses the rough skin of his knuckles. “Your scars are beautiful, Oliver. Just like you are.”

 

Oliver’s breath hitches in his chest, and he chokes on a sob as he pulls his hands from hers and shakes his head.

 

“ _Felicityyy,”_ he whimpers, and he puts his hands over the soft swell of his stomach, rubbing it self consciously.

 

Felicity sighs, and she leans in closer. With her body flush against his side and her chin resting on his upper arm, she wraps her arms around him and puts her hands on top of his, covering his belly.

 

“I know you’ve been used to looking a certain way, but this is nothing to be ashamed of, Oliver.”

 

Oliver looks at her reflection in the mirror, gazing at her thoughtfully, and Felicity threads her fingers through his and grips his hands tightly.

 

“If it really bothers you I can ask John to start a workout schedule with you. We can get some weights or even a treadmill if you want. But you’re already beautiful to me, Oliver. Nothing will ever change that.”

 

She kisses his arm fondly, and a shiver runs through his body. He shifts in her embrace, and she lets go of him and steps back so he can turn toward her. He looks at her long and hard, his eyes dark and heavy with emotion, and Felicity wonders what he’s thinking. Then he leans down, and her heart skips a beat when she realizes what he’s going to do.

 

He stops, his lips mere inches away from hers, and she gasps quietly as she waits for him to kiss her.

 

But he doesn’t.

 

Instead he lets out a trembling breath and pulls away, shaking his head. His cheeks burn red, and he turns his back on her and walks away, moving toward the bed. As he starts pulling on the clothes he’s left there, Felicity sighs deeply, hugging her arms tight to her chest. She can’t deny that she misses being with Oliver in more intimate ways, but she knows he isn’t ready for anything like that - not yet, at least - and she’s more than willing to accept that.

 

“It’s okay, Oliver,” Felicity assures him, and she closes the distance between them. “You’re still healing, and you’re not ready, but that’s okay.”

 

Oliver finishes getting dressed, and when he’s done he turns back to her slowly.

 

_I’m sorry_ , he signs.

 

“Don’t be,” Felicity whispers. “Not about this; not about anything.”

 

She stops right in front of him, gazing up at him fondly, and then she wraps her arms around him and hugs him. She rests her head on her favorite spot - right over his heart - and the feel of it beating hard and fast against her skin soothes her just as it always does.

 

“I love you, Oliver Queen. With everything in me. I’ll wait as long as it takes, even if it takes forever.”

 

Oliver rests his cheek against the top of her head, and he breathes a soft “ _Fe-LI-ci-ty”_ into her hair.

 

“I’ll wait for you,” she promises.

 

* * *

 

Felicity’s heart soars to see the change in Oliver.

 

John, Thea, and Donna all agree that he’s much better than he was when they rescued him almost four months ago.

 

He still has bad days and nightmares. He still has panic attacks and nervous tics. He still can’t say anything other than her name.

 

But as the good begins to far outweigh the bad, Felicity grows more and more hopeful.

 

…

……

………

……

…

 

And then the unthinkable happens.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s a cool, quiet evening in late March. Felicity, Oliver, and Donna are about an hour into the second _Lord of the Rings_ movie.

 

Without warning, the screen goes black.

 

“Felicity?” Oliver questions.

 

“I don’t know, honey,” Felicity responds. “Maybe the DVD player’s broken?”

 

She reaches over and grabs the remote from the coffee table, but before she can push any of the buttons, a loud screeching noise erupts from the speakers. It sounds like one of those Emergency Alert System tests, but no words appear on the blank screen.

 

Oliver groans, putting his hands over his ears, and Felicity’s about to mute the TV when the noise stops.

 

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Donna says, moving from her chair to stand by Oliver’s side of the couch.  She puts her hands gently on top of his, and when he doesn’t flinch, she grips his fingers and pulls his hands away from his ears. “It’s over,” she assures him.

 

The three of them stare at the black screen, and Felicity notices that the DVD player is still on: the clock counting down the seconds of the movie they’re no longer seeing.

 

“That’s weird,” Felicity remarks. “Maybe it’s a problem with the television?”

 

Then she hears the sound again. It plays once, twice, three times, and Felicity notices that it has an odd echo behind it, as though it’s playing from multiple sources.

 

“Mute it, honey,” Donna tells her. “It’s upsetting him.”

 

Felicity glances over at Oliver, who has his hands over his ears again and is whining softly.

 

“I’m sorry, sweetie. I don’t know what’s wrong,” she tells him, and she hits the mute button.

 

All of a sudden, an image fills the black screen.

 

It’s Prometheus.

 

_“You’re not a hero, Oliver Queen,”_ his modulated voice echoes loudly around the room. “ _You’re a monster. And in five minutes, I’m going to prove it to you.”_

 

“Oh my god,” Felicity whispers at the same time that her mother screams.

 

A grainy video fills the screen. In the footage, a hulking figure can be seen snapping three necks in rapid succession. The man turns, and while the image is fuzzy there’s no mistaking the green hood he wears over his head.

 

_“Oliver,”_ Felicity gasps, and she turns to look at him sitting next to her on the couch. His posture is stiff and rigid, his eyes wide, and there’s a blank look in those blue depths that sends a chill down her spine. As Oliver’s body starts to tremble, Felicity feels like the ground is falling out from underneath her.

 

Luckily, her mother’s there to help.

 

“We need to turn it off,” Donna says, pulling the remote out of Felicity’s tight grip.

 

Felicity shudders in horror as more images play out on TV screen. A loud, piercing scream erupts from a man who’s just had his arm broken by the Hood, and that’s when she realizes why the audio seems to be echoing.

 

“It’s not just the TV,” she surmises.

 

It’s everything: every phone, computer, and tablet in the room is playing the same horrible video.

 

“The remote’s not working!” Donna shouts, smashing it against her palm in a fruitless effort to fix it.

 

Another man screams, and a thud can be heard as his body hits the ground.

 

Oliver whimpers quietly next to her.

 

And the sound finally snaps her into motion.

 

“We need to turn off everything electronic!” Felicity orders, standing up from the couch. “Anything that’s playing the message. Turn the TV off manually, Mom.”

 

Donna mutters a simple “okay” as she drops the remote to the floor and hurries toward the television. Meanwhile, Felicity moves for her computer, which is sitting open on the kitchen table playing the same gruesome video. “I’m going to find a way to stop the signal,” she says, her fingers already flying across the keyboard.

 

“I can’t find any buttons!” her mother cries, running her hands anxiously along the edges of the television set.

 

“There’s a touchscreen panel, on the lower right hand side!” Felicity shouts over her shoulder, unwilling to take her eyes off of what she’s doing.

 

“I...I can’t….” Donna fumbles around the screen for a few seconds, but she can’t figure out how to work it.

 

“Mom, just-”

 

“Oh, screw it!” Donna shouts, and she reaches behind the set and rips the plug from the outlet. “There!” she yells in triumph as the video cuts out. “Can’t work without any power now can it?”

 

Felicity sighs with relief, but it’s short lived, because she can still hear the sound of a woman crying from multiple spots in the room.

 

“Your phone and your tablet, Mom. Turn everything off. Take the batteries out if you have to.”

 

As her mother moves quickly around the room, Felicity silences the video playing on her laptop. For some reason, she can’t make it disappear entirely, and she doesn’t want to waste precious time trying. In the end, she manages to shrink it down into the corner of the screen, and she curses loudly as she continues to trace the origin of the signal. The sound of a child crying for his mommy sets her teeth on edge, and her hands start to shake as she works faster. She runs into multiple firewalls, and she curses again as a man begs for mercy and the Hood tells him he has failed the city.

 

“Your phone, Felicity,” Donna gasps from right behind her.

 

Felicity reaches into the pocket of her shorts and tosses the phone onto the table. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the video version of Oliver smash the barrel of a gun repeatedly into a man’s face.

 

“Turn it off, Mom,” Felicity says, her voice shaking uncontrollably.

 

And then finally, _finally_ , she breaks through.

 

“The signal’s coming from the cable company’s server, but it doesn’t look like it’s playing anywhere but here,” she mutters. “I don’t understand why he would….”

 

Suddenly it hits her.

 

“Oliver!” Felicity shouts, and she turns back toward the couch….

 

...but Oliver’s gone.

 

“Where did he go?” Felicity asks, panic starting to rise hard and fast in her chest. “Mom, where did he go?!”

 

“I...I don’t know, baby. I was so busy turning everything off, I….” Her mother’s eyes grow wide, and Felicity’s blood runs cold in her veins. “Your tablet,” Donna moans, and she hurries back over to the couch. “Your tablet was on the table, Felicity, and now it’s gone.”

 

_“Please, god, no,”_ Felicity whispers, and she closes her eyes as her heart clenches in her chest.

 

And that’s when she hears it.

 

The video hasn’t stopped playing; not everywhere.

 

She hears a quiet, muffled scream, filtered through a speaker.

 

She opens her eyes, staring down at her computer, and from somewhere far off behind her she hears the video image of Oliver growl the words “no one can know my secret” before he snaps a man’s neck.

 

“The bathroom,” her mother gasps before Felicity can get the words out.

 

“Get him out of there, Mom,” Felicity begs, and Donna runs off toward the bathroom door. Felicity turns back to her keyboard, fingers moving fast as she attempts to stop the signal.

“Oh, it’s locked!” Donna cries, and Felicity moans helplessly as her mother starts knocking on the bathroom door. “Oliver? Oliver, sweetie, open the door.”

 

Felicity’s chest tightens painfully, but she fights back the rising panic. She has to make it stop.

 

Donna tries the doorknob once more, cursing uncharacteristically as the door holds fast. Her mother’s crying softly now as she knocks harder on the door.

 

“Oliver, honey, it’s Donna. Baby, we’re worried about you. Please open the door.”

 

“ _Mom_ ,” Felicity whimpers quietly, and her hands clench into fists against the keyboard. The video plays on, and Felicity finds herself watching in horror as a sobbing woman tells the Arrow to go to Hell. “Mom, I can’t stop it!” Felicity shouts, her voice breaking, and her fingers shake as she makes another effort to stop the signal, only to be denied once more. Whoever Prometheus has working for him is good.

 

“Oliver, please open the door. We just want to know that you’re okay,” Donna says, pushing her shoulder against the door when, yet again, she receives no answer.

 

Felicity closes her eyes, takes a long, deep breath...and forces herself to make a choice.

 

She leaves the laptop and moves to help her mother.

 

They try to force the door open together, ramming into it at the same time. Donna cries out from the impact, and Felicity bashes her shoulder hard enough that it makes her eyes water.

 

“Call John,” she tells her mother. “He’s number one on the landline. Tell him to get over here _now!”_

 

Donna hurries off to use the landline phone that, once upon a time, Oliver had insisted they would need. Felicity thanks god that she’d never thought to cancel the service as Donna hits number one on the speed dial. She vaguely hears her mother speaking shakily to Diggle as she turns back to the few inches of sturdy wood that separate her from the man she loves.

 

She takes a deep, slow breath to calm herself before she talks to him.

 

“Oliver, it’s Felicity,” she says, speaking as calmly as she can under the circumstances. “Honey, I need you to open the door for me. I need to know that you’re okay.”

 

She can hear the video playing, and she catches the sound of a little girl crying for her daddy, wondering why the bad man had to take him away. Then she hears a woman say she hopes the man who calls himself the Arrow gets what’s coming to him.

 

And then she hears...something else.

 

A sound _not_ coming from the speaker of her tablet.

 

A sound so soft she can

 

just

 

…

 

barely

 

…

 

hear it.

 

…

……

…

 

“Monster.”

 

…

……

…

 

“Oliver?”

 

“Monster. Monster.”

 

“Oh god, no. No, no, no,” Felicity whimpers, and she chokes on a sob as Oliver says the word “monster” again.

 

“Oliver, don’t listen to it! Turn the video off. Please, honey, don’t-”

 

“ _Monster._ ”

 

Felicity moans, and she turns the knob and pushes against the door with all her might, but it won’t budge.

 

“Open the door, baby. _Please_ ,” Felicity begs him.

 

“ _Monster_ ,” Oliver whispers again.

 

A sob escapes her, and she rests her forehead against the door as her mother returns.

 

“John’s on his way. I called Quentin, and he’s tried getting in touch with the task force watching the loft but no one’s answering.”

 

“No,” Felicity moans, lifting her head once more. She stares at the door separating her from Oliver, who’s now mumbling the word “monster” over and over to himself, his voice drowning out the video he’s watching.

 

Donna gasps when she hears what he’s saying. “Oh, honey,” she whispers, putting her hand on Felicity’s shoulder, and Felicity feels like her heart is going to burst out of her chest from fear and panic and the uselessness she feels as she listens to Oliver repeat the first word he’s said in months that hasn’t been her name.

 

Then without warning, he stops mumbling. The video feed goes quiet, and Felicity wonders if it’s over….

 

...and then the sound of Prometheus’ modulated voice fills the air.

 

_“All these people you’ve killed; all these lives you’ve destroyed. Everyone you’ve ever cared about would be better off without you, Oliver. You don’t deserve to be happy. You’re a killer, Oliver Queen. You’re a monster.”_

 

And the loft goes silent.

 

Felicity listens carefully, waiting for more, but the video seems to be over.

 

“Oliver?” she asks tentatively.

 

Silence.

 

…

……

…

 

More silence.

 

…

……

…

 

And then she hears a crash.

 

It’s the sound of breaking glass.

 

“OLIVER!” Felicity screams, and she pounds loudly on the door. “Oliver, are you okay?!”

 

He’s mumbling to himself again - the word “monster” repeated over and over and over - and she can hear the sound of glass scraping against the tiled floor.

 

“No!” Felicity yells, and she rams her shoulder against the door. When it doesn’t budge, she tries again, and she would swear that she feels it give just a little bit. She sobs, ramming her shoulder against it once more, and she cries out as pain shoots through her arm.

 

“Felicity!” Donna shouts, and she grabs her uninjured arm and pulls her away from the door. “It’s no use, baby. The door’s too strong; you’re going to hurt yourself.”

 

“I don’t care,” Felicity gasps, clutching at her shoulder as tears stream down her face. “I don’t care, Mom, I have to get to him!”

 

And that’s when she realizes she can’t hear anything anymore.

 

No video message playing.

 

No muttering of that awful word.

 

No sounds of movement at all.

 

The loft is silent…..

 

...and it scares her to death.

 

“Oliver?” she calls quietly. “Oliver, are you okay?”

 

There’s no answer.

 

Felicity moves closer to the door, placing her palm against the hard wood.

 

She would do anything, _give_ anything, if only he would answer her.

 

“Please say something,” she begs him.

 

He doesn’t answer.

 

Felicity rests her forehead against the door, reaching for him in every way she possibly can, and she calls for him once more.

 

“I love you, Oliver,” she whispers. “I love you so much. Open the door, baby. Do it for me. _Please._ ”

 

No answer.

 

Felicity sobs.

 

“... _Oliver?”_

 

She’s never felt so helpless in her life.

 

…

……

…

 

And then John Diggle shows up.

 

The next few moments pass in a blur, seeming to exist in no time and too much time all at once.

 

“What happened?” John asks, moving to stand beside her.

 

“I heard breaking glass,” Felicity tells him. “Oliver won’t open the door, and…and he hasn’t said a word in so long. _John_ ,” she whimpers.

 

Diggle puts a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it tightly.

 

“It’s okay, Felicity. We’ll get him out.”

 

Carefully but firmly, he pulls her away from the door. She moves, too weak to fight him even if she’d wanted to, and she cradles her right arm against her chest as her mother wraps her arms around Felicity’s middle and holds her up.

 

John moves back a few steps and rams into the bathroom door, cracking the frame. One push later and the door flies open with a loud crash. There’s glass scattered all over the tiled floor, and Felicity can just make out the top of Oliver’s head from where he lies on the ground before John moves into the room and blocks her view.

 

“ _Oh my god,_ ” Diggle whispers, and Felicity’s heart clenches painfully in her chest.

 

“What’s wrong? John, is he-”

 

“Get dressed, Felicity. _Now_ ,” John tells her, and Felicity whimpers as he bends down over Oliver.

 

“John?”

 

Diggle gathers Oliver’s still form in his arms and stands.

 

Then he turns to her….

 

...and if her mother wasn’t already holding her up Felicity knows that she’d be on the ground…...

 

...because Oliver lies still in Diggle’s arms….

 

...and there’s blood pouring from his wrists.

 

“We’re taking him to the hospital,” John says.

 

…

……

…

 

And the bottom falls out of Felicity’s world.

 

_...tbc…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry.
> 
> I’m so. Fucking. Sorry.
> 
> I’ve known the story was going here for awhile, and as everybody started leaving comments about how happy they were to see Oliver getting better I just started feeling worse and worse. Also, those comments about how you guys couldn’t wait to see what Oliver would say next?...
> 
> Yeah.
> 
> I feel like a jerk.
> 
> A few words of comfort: this is not a death fic. I promise.
> 
> And something to look forward to (umm, sort of?): the next chapter will give us Oliver’s PoV of his torture.
> 
> One final comment: I’m beginning to understand why I’ve been finding it difficult to write this story. It’s downright painful to put your characters through this. Like, physically painful. There were times when I was writing that final scene where my heart literally hurt. Any writer will tell you that the process can be quite a ride sometimes, and that’s incredibly true when you’re writing scenes as difficult as this one.
> 
> Anyways, I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me. I’d send you all cookies and tissues if I could. <3


	11. There's a Power in Your Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: This is a very heavy chapter. It deals with issues of torture, including: starvation, sensory deprivation, drug testing, shaming, and physical and emotional abuse. It also includes a sappy, brief, mildly explicit sex scene.
> 
> Thank you so much to all my amazing readers, especially those leaving such wonderful and uplifting comments. I appreciate you all so much! <3 Apologies, as always, for the length between updates.
> 
> For those who've asked, I fully intend to complete this story, so please don't worry about me leaving it unfinished. :)

**< \--Chapter Ten: There’s a Power in Your Name--> **

_One cold night, December 2016_

Oliver pants heavily, his body trembling above hers. Felicity runs a soothing hand along his upper back, and he shivers before leaning down and kissing her. She whimpers into his mouth, running her fingers through his hair lightly. When he pulls away for air, he stares down at her in wonder, unable to keep his tears from falling any longer.

“I’ve missed you, Felicity. God, I’ve missed you so much,” Oliver gasps.

Felicity smiles up at him. “Me, too,” she whispers, gripping his shoulders tightly as he starts to move inside her again. “Me, too, Oliver. _Oh, god.”_

“I love you,” Oliver moans, thrusting harder, and she throws her head back against the pillow, holding onto him even tighter.

“I love you, too,” she replies, groaning quietly when he stills his movements. He brushes a lock of hair away from her face, then uses his fingertips to wipe away her tears. “Oliver, I…I don’t want to lose you again. Not ever,” she sobs, and Oliver quiets her with a kiss.

“Shhh, it’s okay, I’m here,” he whispers against her lips. He kisses his way along her cheek, down the side of her neck, then back up to the spot beneath her ear that she likes so much. She gasps under his touch, crying softly now. Oliver kisses her cheek once more, and his tears mix with hers as he soothes her. _“Fe-LI-ci-ty,”_ he sighs, rubbing his nose against hers. “I’m right here, honey. I’m not going anywhere, not ever.”

_“Oliver.”_

_“Felicity.”_

When they finally come down, Oliver collapses onto his back, pulling her against his side.

He falls asleep with her head resting over his heart….

...and he wakes to the feel of her being ripped from his arms.

* * *

 

It only takes one man to hold Felicity back, but it takes three men to keep Oliver from her.

She struggles hard against her captor, but she’s no match for him. She’s naked, and the sight of some stranger with his arms wrapped around her body makes Oliver see red. He lunges, calling out for her, and he almost gets away, but then a fourth man steps in, wrapping his arms around Oliver’s bare torso.

“Let her go,” Oliver growls, fighting against his captors.

“Come with us quietly, and we will,” the man holding Felicity responds.

Oliver looks at her, watching her shake her head as she struggles against the man’s strong grip.

“No, Oliver, don’t-”

“Quiet!” the man holding her shouts, and he squeezes her tighter. Felicity gasps, her hands clawing uselessly at the man’s arms.

“Felicity!” Oliver screams, and he struggles once more but it’s no use; there are too many of them.

“Come with us quietly, Oliver Queen, and we will let her go,” the man says again. He squeezes her even tighter for emphasis, and Felicity fights weakly against him, her eyes full of fear and pain.

There’s no choice to make.

“Okay,” Oliver agrees, shoulders slumping with defeat. “Okay. I’ll come with you.”

“ _No,”_ Felicity gasps, tears rising in her eyes as she struggles to breathe. “No, Oliver. Please.”

“I told you to stop talking!” her captor shouts, and before Oliver can blink the man pulls a syringe out of one of his pockets and stabs her in the neck.

“NO!” Oliver shouts. “FELICITY!”

The man loosens his grip on her and she crumbles to the ground on the other side of their bed. Oliver shouts her name over and over, fighting against his captors, and he manages to throw two of them off and make it three steps before one of them shoves a syringe into his neck. Oliver continues to struggle even as the room begins to spin around him.

“Please,” Oliver begs. “Please, just tell me she’s okay.”

He shrugs off another man, then makes it two more steps before another syringe ends up in his shoulder. He falls limp in his remaining captor’s arms, and the man shoves him violently to the ground. Oliver drags himself across the floor, fighting desperately against the drugs flooding into his bloodstream.

He needs to see her; he needs to know that she’s okay.

He makes it to the other side of the bed just as two men throw themselves onto his back.

And then he sees her: prone and scared but still conscious, one hand reaching out to him.

“I’m okay,” she tells him, her speech slurring as the drugs begin to take effect. “I’m all right. _Oliver.”_

“Get him out of here,” the man standing over Felicity orders, and Oliver reaches out to her before they can stop him. His fingertips brush hers, and he tries to say something, but as the double dose of tranquilizers pulls him under, he can’t find the strength.

“I’ll find you, Oliver,” he hears her say as the room fades to black around him. “I promise. I’ll find you.”

Oliver passes out with his fingers wrapped tightly around hers.

…

……

...

As the world goes dark around her, Felicity hears the man above her tell the others to be careful.

“The boss wants him alive...but soon enough he’ll wish he was dead.”

* * *

 

When Felicity wakes an hour later - her head pounding and her stomach roiling - she finds herself back in bed wrapped up in her blankets.

Oliver is gone.

* * *

 

Deep underground in his dark prison of stone, with no sun and no way to tell time, Oliver quickly loses track of how long he spends being tortured.

Though he can’t tell his captors apart at first (they dress the same and wear masks to hide their identities) Oliver’s smart, and he quickly learns how to tell them apart based on their voices and builds. He gives them all nicknames, and he eventually deduces that there are eight different men and four women. He strongly suspects that they work for Prometheus, though he can’t be entirely sure that Prometheus is the unnamed Boss they speak of.

Oliver doesn’t know a lot about Prometheus himself, but judging by how well the man seems to know him, Oliver wouldn’t be surprised to find that he’s hired men and women who have their own personal vendettas against Oliver Queen and The Green Arrow. His captors all clearly despise him, and some of them seem to get off on torturing him - in more ways than one.

They cut into him and carve him open.

One man he’s nicknamed Billy (after the man who tortured him on Lian Yu) takes a great pleasure in reopening each and every one of his scars. He does so slowly, painfully, and precisely. He draws the torture out as long as he can in a single sitting, and when the wounds begin to heal, he starts all over again.

They hurl insults at him and demean him.

One woman who he’s nicknamed Susan enjoys bringing up his time with the Bratva, torturing him with memories of all the people he killed while he was in Russia (one of whom was her father). She takes pleasure in spitting on him and telling him he’s a demon that no woman could ever love.

One man with arms even thicker than Diggle’s takes pride in wrapping his arms around Oliver’s neck and cutting off his air until he passes out. One of the men shoots him through the shoulder with one of Oliver’s own arrows, then shows Oliver the scar on his chest where an arrow just like it almost killed him five years ago. Yet another man relishes holding Oliver’s head underwater until he nearly drowns.

They beat him viciously, bruising him and sometimes breaking his bones.

There’s one man in particular who seems to loathe him more than the others. Oliver calls him Daniel, after a boy who used to pick on him when they were kids, and when he speaks Oliver recognizes him as the one who held Felicity.

The day he meets Daniel, the man tells him that his wife and three little girls were killed by Deathstroke’s men. When Oliver tries to explain that that wasn’t his fault, Daniel doesn’t believe him. Instead he ties Oliver’s arms to a post behind him and kicks him hard enough to bruise his ribs.

A few weeks later, after a particularly vicious taunt from Oliver, Daniel slices open his inner right thigh from knee to groin, and Oliver fears the worst until one of the other men steps in and stops him, telling Daniel that The Boss will be pissed if he keeps going. Daniel also breaks Oliver’s wrist under his boot, calling him “weak” and “pathetic,” and a week before Felicity rescues him, Daniel breaks Oliver’s kneecap and five of his ribs while calling him a monster.

His captors also deprive him of food and water, giving him only enough to keep him alive, but just barely.

They keep him tied up in one way or another for weeks. They leave him chained to the floor, where he’s forced to kneel until his legs grow numb. They leave him dangling from the ceiling, toes just brushing the ground but not enough that he can stand, putting unbearable pressures on his arms and causing the skin of his wrists to chafe and bleed. They leave him hanging off the wall, forcing him to stand until his legs give out.

They untie him occasionally to allow him to relieve himself in a corner, and they watch him the entire time. Every once in awhile they provide him with a towel and fresh water to wash himself, and Oliver must strip naked in front of them in order to get clean.

Sometimes, they leave him tied up for days on end, and Oliver’s forced to relieve himself in the meager rags they’ve dressed him in. It’s embarrassing and uncomfortable, and whenever his captors find that he’s soiled himself they hurt him. In time, Daniel starts to get off on shaming him. He tells Oliver that the only way he’ll be allowed to relieve himself properly is if he begs - “like a dog” - and that he’ll be punished every time he has an accident. Oliver endures the punishment until he can’t anymore, and the first time he begs Daniel to untie him is one of the most humiliating and demeaning experiences of his life.

But despite everything they throw at him - despite the threats, insults, humiliation, and pain - Oliver doesn’t break; not in the way they want him to.

Because Oliver has something to hold on to.

_Felicity._

His captors tell him over and over again that she’s dead; that she’s not coming to save him. But Oliver never saw her die that night. He remembers her being alive, but more than that he remembers her promise to find him...and that’s what he clings to in his darkest moments.

Oliver doesn't give up hope. He trusts his team, but more than anything he trusts _her_ ; trusts the promise that she made to him. He clings hard to the belief that she’s alive, and that she and his team will find him.

At first, he doesn't say her name out loud, because they can’t have any piece of her; Oliver would rather die. So instead he says her name in his head - over and over and over - like a mantra, or a prayer.

He calls to her over and over again in his mind….

...and then Prometheus comes to him…

...and the real torture starts.

* * *

 

As it turns out, letting his people toy with Oliver was just Prometheus’ way of gaining their loyalty: allowing them the chance to vent their frustrations and pain on their enemy (with the threat of punishment should they go too far) while simultaneously breaking Oliver down a bit in the process.

Prometheus doesn’t torture Oliver physically the way his people do: he tortures Oliver psychologically, and it doesn’t take long for Oliver to realize that this is where the man excels. He knows more than Oliver could have ever imagined. He knows just how to poke around in Oliver’s mind; just how to open old wounds and tug on old threads and unravel him piece by slow piece. It’s unnerving just how well Prometheus knows Oliver Queen, and just how much he enjoys making Oliver feel lower than dirt and less than human. The memories he dredges up, and the self-hatred and guilt he makes Oliver feel, are unlike any torture Oliver’s ever experienced.

The first thing Prometheus tortures him with is video footage of his most brutal and gruesome kills, both with the Bratva and in Starling City. Prometheus must have someone with tech experience on his team, because Oliver can’t imagine where he’s collected some of the footage from.

Oliver watches himself stab and shoot and beat people to death. He watches his victims scream in agony and beg him to stop. He watches blood flow and bones break. When Oliver can’t bear to watch anymore, he closes his eyes, and Prometheus has one of his men beat him as punishment.

Even with his eyes closed, Oliver can still hear the screams.

Prometheus doesn’t have video footage of everything Oliver has done, but he still has enough stories to fill Oliver’s head with horrifying images. He reminds Oliver of the terrible things he’s done in the past: things he did as Ollie Queen, things he did during those five years in Hell (on the island, in Hong Kong, and in Russia), and things he’s done since his return home. He reminds him of all the lives he’s taken both as Oliver Queen and as Something Else. When Prometheus runs out of stories, his people come to tell him theirs, and it’s just like Oliver suspected: they all have a personal history with either Oliver Queen or his alter ego.

Prometheus also shows him pictures of those left behind in the wake of his violence in Russia and the year he spent killing during his mission to right his father’s wrongs and save his city. Spouses, children, parents, friends, and family: all left with holes in their lives because Oliver killed the people they loved. But Prometheus doesn’t just show him photos. He shows him videos, too: testimonies of the loved ones of Oliver’s victims. With his voice disguised, Prometheus asks them how they feel after their loss - what they would say to the Arrow if they could meet him - and Oliver’s forced to watch videos of wives and husbands telling him to go to hell and children crying because they miss their parents.

Every once in awhile, Prometheus and his men turn off the lights in Oliver’s prison and leave him alone….

...but Oliver quickly learns that being left by himself isn’t much better.

Alone with nothing but his thoughts, visions of the dead and those left living play over and over in his mind, and when he falls asleep from sheer exhaustion, their voices echo in his nightmares. When Oliver wakes with a scream -  the words “I’m sorry” frozen on his lips - he hangs his head or curls up tight, and he clings to the thought of his friends and family. He thinks of his parents and Tommy and Laurel; thinks of his sister, and Diggle….

...and Felicity.

Oliver clings tight to his loved ones, even as the voices in his head cry in pain, or scream at him to go to hell, or tell him to die.

Alone in the dark, Oliver finds himself whispering their names over and over again.

_Mom._

_Dad._

_Laurel._

_Sara._

_Shado._

_Tommy._

_Thea._

_John._

_Felicity._

_Felicity._

_…Fe-li-ci-ty._

Their names become his mantra; their memories, his lifeline….

...and one by one, Prometheus takes them away from him.

* * *

 

The moments of darkness and solitude cease suddenly and without warning.

One day, Oliver falls asleep, only to be awoken by a hard smack across the face. A strong pair of hands pulls him to his feet and hangs him from the ceiling, while another pair shoves a tablet in front of him and forces him to watch a five minute video that Prometheus has cobbled together. It’s a combination of the footage from his kills and the testimonies of those left behind, and as rough hands hold his head forward, he has no choice but to watch and listen.

Oliver has no idea how long they torture him with this video. All he knows is that every time he closes his eyes, he’s violently woken. Every time he tries to sleep, he’s forced to relive some of his worst memories.

Forced to see the pain he’s caused and the lives he’s destroyed.

Forced to listen to his victims begging him to stop.

Forced to hear the condemnations of his victim’s spouses and the cries of their children.

The video never changes, but that doesn’t make it easier to watch. If anything, it makes it worse.

Whenever he hears his victims scream in pain, he wants to scream with them.

Whenever he hears that mother tell him that she hopes he understands what it’s like to lose a child, his body aches with regret.

Whenever he hears the little girl crying because she just wants her Daddy to come home, he hates himself.

The video always concludes with the same voiceover:

_“All these people you’ve killed; all these lives you’ve destroyed. Everyone you’ve ever cared about would be better off without you, Oliver. You don’t deserve to be happy. You’re a killer, Oliver Queen. You’re a monster.”_

When the video ends and Prometheus’ men scatter to the edges of the room - waiting to wake him the instant he falls asleep again - Oliver shuts his eyes and thinks of her. He calls to her in his mind, trying to drown out the sounds of screaming and pain with the melody of her name.

_Felicity._

_Felicity._

_Felicity._

Sometimes it works...and sometimes it doesn’t.

Sometimes the sound of her voice is drowned out by the screams.

Sometimes the feel of her touch becomes buried under the memory of blood splattering against his skin.

Sometimes the spark of hope he feels when he says her name is suffocated by the word “monster” as Prometheus’ words echo louder and louder in his head.

_“You’re a killer, Oliver Queen. You’re a monster.”_

Then one day, Oliver repeats the words out loud:

“I’m a monster.”

...and he finds that he believes them.

…

……

……..

Prometheus shows Oliver the video more times than he can count, until finally it becomes a trigger.

_"Everyone you’ve ever cared about would be better off without you, Oliver. You don’t deserve to be happy. You’re a killer, Oliver Queen. You’re a monster.”_

Oliver knows deep in his bones that he’ll remember those words until the day he dies….

...and as Prometheus finds new ways to torture him, Oliver begins to find himself longing for that day.

* * *

 

The sensory deprivation tank is worse than Oliver could have ever imagined.

Left for unknown periods of time floating in a small, completely dark, soundproof chamber with nothing but his thoughts, it doesn’t take long for Oliver to start hallucinating. His mind wanders easily, and the images his tortured brain conjures up are terrifying.

He watches himself kill people; watches his friends and family die in agony.

The first time he sees Thea die he loses it, thrashing hard against the confines of his watery prison. The salt in the water that keeps him floating makes moving hard, and his muscles begin to cramp as he strains to climb out of what feels like a coffin. He thrashes so violently that he ends up hurting himself, and when his captors finally let him out his body cramps so much that he can’t stand up.

Oliver cries softly as they carry him back to his cold stone room and chain him to the floor. When they leave him alone, Oliver finds that he’s actually grateful for the lights that never turn off anymore, because every time he closes his eyes he sees his sister dead at his feet. He whimpers Thea’s name over and over as his muscles continue to cramp, and when someone returns to give him some water Oliver drinks it gratefully.

Then they throw him back in the tank, and he faces his nightmares once more.

* * *

 

With the introduction of sensory deprivation into his torture routine, Oliver begins to lose touch with what’s real and what’s not; which thoughts are based on actual memories and which ones are false memories created by hallucinations from the tank.

As the torture continues, Oliver fights against his painful memories by clinging tightly to his happy ones.

Times spent with Laurel and Tommy and Thea when he was little.

Mornings spent bonding with Diggle.

Nights spent in Felicity’s arms.

But that becomes harder to do when Prometheus starts playing the sound files...because every time Oliver steps into the tank, he has no idea if he’ll be spending the time in quiet, or if he’ll be forced to listen to the cries of his victims and the incriminations of their families.

As Oliver spends more and more time in the tank, he starts to fill in the spaces between screams and insults with things his loved ones have said to him in anger and pain.

He hears Laurel admit, “I’d hoped you’d rot in Hell a whole lot longer than five years.”

He hears Tommy tell him, “You’re a murderer. A killer. You were my best friend in life, but now it’s like I don’t even know you.”

He hears Diggle say, “Oliver, you’re not a soldier; you’re a criminal. And a murderer.”

He hears Lance tell him, “You, Mr. Queen, are not a hero. You’re a villain.”

He hears Thea crying because she trusted him and he let her down. He hears the bitterness in Roy’s voice when he admits that he believed in him and was disappointed.

He hears Felicity tell him that it’s over.

It becomes harder and harder to distinguish dreams from reality; harder to separate the loathing of his victim’s families from the disappointment and betrayal of his family and friends.

Soon it becomes harder and harder to tell who hates him and who doesn’t.

…Soon he’s not sure how anyone ever loved him in the first place.

* * *

 

One day, Oliver watches everyone he’s ever cared for die, and he sprains his wrist trying to get out of the locked tank. When they finally let him out, Oliver sobs with relief.

The next time they try to force him into the tank, he panics. He begs them not to do this, offers to do whatever they want in return, but they ignore his pleas. Instead they beat him until he can’t fight anymore, and as Oliver screams and cries uselessly inside the chamber he hears Her calling to him.

_“Oliver. Oliver, it’s okay. I’m going to find you. I’m going to bring you home. I promise.”_

Oliver stops crying and his body goes limp. He clings desperately to the sound of Felicity’s voice.

_“You are not alone...and I believe in you.”_

_“You’re a hero, Oliver Queen.”_

_“I love you.”_

* * *

 

When they finally let him sleep again, Oliver holds on tight to the memory of his Felicity.

She tells him everything’s going to be okay.

She tells him She’s looking for him and She’s going to find him.

She tells him She loves him.

But then sometimes….

...sometimes She whispers terrible things to him.

She says things like “I hate you” and “I wish I never met you” and “you’re a monster.” He tells himself it’s not real; She’s never said those things to him, and She never would. Instead, Oliver clings tightly to the times She says “I love you” and “I’m coming for you,” because he still remembers those moments, too. He sees them in the tank and in his dreams; hears them in the darkness of his solitude.

He clings to Her love, refusing to let them take it away from him.

They can't have Felicity, not ever.

…

……

………

And then they start drugging him.

* * *

 

The first time they try to drug him, Oliver fights back as hard as he can, but it’s useless. Untold weeks of starvation and deprivation and torture have wreaked havoc on his body, and he’s no match for the man who shoves the needle into the back of his neck and pushes the plunger.

Prometheus assures him that he’ll be fine, as none of the animals or humans these drugs were previously tested on have ever died from them. He does admit, however, that as Oliver’s only the fifth human test subject, he’s not entirely sure what his experiences will be like.

The first drug brings up nothing but painful memories of the people Oliver’s killed. It’s like watching the videos and hearing the stories but ten times worse because everything feels so incredibly _real_ . He can _feel_ himself hurting them. He can feel the warmth of their blood on his skin. He can hear the sound of their bones breaking and the awful noise of their screams that haunt him in his sleep. He can feel the life leaving their bodies as he crushes windpipes and breaks necks and delivers deathblows.

He feels like he’s living his worst moments all over again.

Another drug tries to take his memories of Her and everyone he’s ever loved.

He tries to remember the day Laurel got accepted into law school, but it feels like someone else’s memory.

He tries to remember how he felt the first time he hugged Tommy after his five years in hell, but the memory feels fuzzy, like a dream.

He tries to remember John’s wedding day, and the day Thea was born, and the day Felicity agreed to marry him, but the harder he focuses on the memories the hazier they become.

Oliver repeats his loved ones names over and over again -  trying desperately to hold onto them - but the tighter he clings the faster his memories slip away, like grains of sand through his fingers.

Yet another drug tries to convince him that everyone he’s ever cared for hates him.

When Felicity calls him a monster, Oliver mutters Her name over and over, trying desperately to hold onto the memory of Her telling him She loves him.

Oliver begs them to stop drugs, and they do for a time….

...but then one day they put him back into that awful tank, and they begin to intersperse sessions in the tank with doses of the drug until he can’t tell what’s real and what’s not anymore.

* * *

 

And Oliver finally begins to break.

The drugs and the tank.

The hyper-real hallucinations and the soul crushing nightmares.

The lack of sleep and adequate nutrition and physical torture.

The self-loathing and depression.

Oliver finds it harder and harder to stay alive.

As his body grows weaker, he can feel his mind starting to grow weaker, too...and with it, his will to live.

One day he closes his eyes, thinking this might finally be the end. He wakes to the harsh sting of a needle in his chest, and he feels like his heart is going to burst from the pain of the pure adrenaline coursing through his blood.

Prometheus tells him it’s not time for him to die.

Not yet.

* * *

 

It becomes harder and harder to distinguish reality from fantasy.

The drugs make everything seem hyper-real.

Oliver struggles to tell if the memory of John telling him he wishes Oliver was dead instead of Andy is real or not.

He struggles to remember the name of his and Thea’s childhood cat (or was it a dog?).

The first time Felicity come to rescue him, Oliver cries when his hand goes right through Her.

The second time She comes, She tells him he deserves everything that’s happened to him, and She leaves him hanging from the ceiling.

The third time She comes, Prometheus runs a sword through Her chest before She can untie him.

Every time Felicity comes to rescue him, Oliver wonders if this might be the time that it’s real.

But it never is.

She calls him a monster, or he watches Her die, or She disappears right in front of him before She can reach him.

She never touches him, not once, and Oliver begins to lose hope that She’ll ever come for him.

When he’s not sleeping fitfully or left alone in the tank or suffering through drug induced stupors or being beaten by his captors or shown videos of his failures, Prometheus finds time to break what little is left of Oliver’s spirit.

Prometheus taunts him and insults him and demeans him. He spits on him and calls him a monster over and over again, filling his head with the word until sometimes it’s the only thing he can hear when he’s left alone with his thoughts.

...and in time, Oliver begins to repeat the word back every time Prometheus says it.

_Monster._

_Monster._

_Monster._

...And in time, he stops begging them to leave him alone.

He stops asking for food and water and a chance to get clean.

He stops asking them to let him sleep.

He stops asking for everything to end.

He feels unworthy of any of those things.

This is what he deserves, after all.

In time, he stops talking altogether.

But there’s one thing he _doesn’t_ stop doing…

...one word he never stops saying...

…

……

…

_Her name._

Oliver whispers Her name to the dark as he tries desperately to fall asleep.

_“Felicity…”_

He shouts it in the tank as the hallucinations grow more and more disturbing.

“FELICITY!”

He whines it from the floor of his prison as the drugs eat away at his memories and seek to destroy him from the inside out.

_“Felicityyy.”_

He says it over and over again in his head and outloud, unwilling to let go of Her no matter how undeserving he feels.

Then one day, someone jams a needle into his neck and he watches himself kill Her.

She begs him for mercy, screams in pain and sobs, but he doesn’t stop until She’s dead in his arms, Her blood wet against his skin.

He screams Her name over and over, telling Her he’s sorry and he didn’t mean to hurt Her and _Oh god, please, Felicity, don’t leave me._

But She dies in his arms, and his screams turn to sobs, and soon the only thing he can say is Her name, over and over and over again.

When the drugs finally wear off, Oliver’s curled up in a ball on the floor, and his torturer stands above him.

Prometheus tells him he’ll never see Her again, and Oliver just shakes his head, quietly whimpering Her name as he cries himself to sleep.

…

……

………

……

...

Her name is the only word Oliver can say for a very long time.

* * *

 

As the days drag on, his happy memories begin to drown in a deluge of painful ones, and his real memories begin to be replaced by false ones.

The pain is unbearable.

Every time he closes his eyes, he hopes that he’ll never open them again.

Every day he prays that his body will shut down and let him rest for good.

But it doesn’t.

Maybe it’s leftover survival instinct.

Maybe it’s a part of his brain that’s still fighting for self-preservation.

Maybe it’s stubbornness, or pride, or a fragile sense of hope….

…

…...

…

Maybe it’s the fact that despite everything he’s been through, Oliver still loves Felicity Smoak with all of his heart, no matter how twisted and broken it’s become.

Whatever the reason, Oliver holds onto Felicity as tightly as he can.

And Prometheus keeps him alive, but just barely; just enough to prolong his torture.

Slowly, Oliver cuts himself off from his loved ones in order to save himself from the pain and spare what little of him is left. He forgets about Shado and Sara. Forgets about Laurel and Quentin. Forgets about his parents and Tommy and John and Thea.

But he never forgets about Her.

When all else has faded from his mind, he still sees _Her._

He clings desperately to Her because he has to; because he knows that if he lets go of Her there will be nothing left of _him_.

His memories of Her become tainted like all the rest, but he holds on tightly to everything good about Her. The warmth of Her smile, the tenderness of Her touch, the strength of Her wit.

He clings as tightly as he can to the thought of Her.

Even as he begs for death, he begs Her to save him.

Even as he hates himself, he loves Her even more.

Even as he slowly forgets about everyone he’s ever cared for, he never forgets Her.

He clings tight to Felicity in his bleakest moments.

He whispers Her name in the dark.

Cries out for Her in his sleep.

Screams for Her as they beat him and cut on him and hurl insults at him and break him down into almost nothing.

Eventually they take everything else, but they never get _Her._  

She’s all he has left.

…

……

...

Then one day, Prometheus promises to take Her from him, too.

Oliver hangs from the ceiling of his prison and silently prays to anyone who will listen to take his life before his enemy can take Hers.

…

……

...

And then a few hours later, She comes for him.

His broken mind won’t accept the fact that She’s real. He’s been “rescued” by Her too many times in his waking dreams and his sleeping nightmares.

Prometheus promised he would kill Her. She’s not real; She can’t be. He won’t let himself be fooled again.

She reaches out a hand to touch him, and he flinches, because he’s been here before. Every time She comes for him, She can never quite make contact with him, and Oliver’s not sure he can bear the disappointment one more time.

She reaches out again and he whimpers, and Her face falls. She tells him She’s come to take him home, and Oliver watches Her fearfully, waiting for everything to go wrong.

And then She says something Oliver has never heard Her say before.

“It’s me, honey. It’s your Felicity.”

And suddenly, Oliver remembers.

_My Felicity._

_My girl._

_My always._

_My Felicity._

She moves in closer, Her hand an inch from his face.

And he breathes out Her name.

“Fe-li-ci-ty.”

He can’t remember the last time he’s spoken, and his throat burns raw at the action.

But then She cups his cheek, caressing it gently, and Oliver’s world glows suddenly bright.

She’s a beacon of light in the darkness of his misery.

Oliver leans into Her touch, whispering Her name again, and his chest aches just a little bit less.

Then She cradles his face between Her hands and promises to take him home.

_...tbc..._


	12. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: This chapter deals with the aftermath of attempted suicide.
> 
> I'm sorry it's taken me so long to post this. Real life hasn't gone very easy on me lately. But this chapter's pretty long (at least by my standards) so there's that.
> 
> Thank you as always to everyone still reading, leaving comments, and being super patient with me. My readers are the best. <3

**< \--Chapter Eleven: Family--> **

Oliver stays conscious nearly all the way to the hospital. Felicity can still hear him muttering that awful word to himself as he bleeds out in her arms.

“Monster. Monster. Monster.”

Felicity squeezes the towels tighter around his wrists, gripping them firmly, as though the simple act of holding on to him will keep him with her. Her right shoulder still hurts from when she slammed it into the door, but she ignores it, focusing all of her attention on soothing Oliver.

“We’re almost there,” John says from behind the wheel, and Donna turns around in the passenger seat to look back at them. Her mother is crying quietly, and Felicity wants nothing more than to cry with her; to let out all the pain and the anger and the despair she feels holding the man she loves while he dies.

_ “Monster,” _ Oliver whines, and he turns his head toward Felicity, burying his face against her stomach. Hot tears soak her shirt, and Felicity shushes him gently, gripping his wrists tighter and telling him it’s going to be okay.

But she doesn’t really believe it.

They’re words for his benefit and nothing else.

Because he’d been getting  _ better.  _ Slowly but surely, her Oliver had been coming back to her. And just like that, Prometheus had taken everything from them.

_ Again. _

She’s been with Oliver through some of his lowest lows. He’s shared memories with her in the middle of the night before: memories of times when he’d considered taking his own life. But he’d never followed through; never actually made a real attempt.

And now….

“ _ Felicityyy…”  _ Oliver moans against her stomach.

It’s the first time he’s said her name since Prometheus forced him to watch that vile video.

“I’m here, baby. I’m right here,” she soothes him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She grips his wrists even tighter, pulling him closer to her in the small confines of the backseat, and Oliver whimpers as his tears fall harder.

“Save your strength, sweetie,” she says. “You’re going to be okay. I...I need you to be okay.”

She feels him slowly nod his head against her, whimpering softly...and then his body grows limp in her arms. She looks down at the towels covering his slit wrists, and they’re soaked through with his blood.

_ “John, hurry,” _ Felicity pleads.

* * *

Oliver’s unconscious when John carries him into the hospital ER, Felicity’s hand planted firmly on his shoulder because she’s afraid to let go of him.

As two nurses wheel him away, Felicity begs another to let her go with Oliver to make sure he’s okay. While the rules are immediate family only, the kind male nurse agrees to let her in, provided she stay well out of the way.

And Felicity watches nervously as the doctors and nurses work to save Oliver’s life.

_ Please let him be okay,  _ she prays silently to anyone who will listen.  _ He has to be okay. He was getting  _ better.

One of the doctors remarks that he’s lost a lot of blood and will need a transfusion. Felicity’s heart seizes painfully in her chest, and a quiet sob escapes her, easily lost in the bustle and noise of the men and women trying to save the man she loves more than anything in the world.

She can’t lose him now; not after everything that’s happened.

Not after he was finally getting better.

…

……

…

When Oliver’s heart stops, Felicity would swear she can feel hers stop, too.

…

……

...

She cries silently. 

Every shout of “CLEAR!” feels like a stab through her heart.

Every shock of electricity through his body feels like a shock through her own.

“Please,” she begs quietly. “Please, please,  _ please _ .”

…

……

…

And in the end….

…

……

…

...they bring him back.

… 

…… 

… 

When his heart beats once more, the doctors start an IV and blood transfusions. Then the nurse who let her into the ER comes over to inform her that he’s been stabilized enough that they feel confident about getting him into surgery.

As they wheel him out of the room, Felicity moves to follow, and the man puts a gentle hand on her shoulder. 

“You won’t be allowed in the operating room,” he tells her. “I can’t bend the rules on this one.”

She nods in understanding, then moves out into the hallway. She watches quietly as they wheel Oliver down the corridor, turn him around a corner, and push him out of her sight.

“Is he going to be okay?” Felicity asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I can’t make any promises, Ms. Smoak. But I can tell you we’re going to do everything we can to help him. He’s in very good hands.”

She nods her head again, unable to form any more words, and the nurse offers to walk her back to the waiting room to meet up with her family.

She lets him show her the way. It’s not until her mother throws her arms around her neck and the nurse lets go that Felicity realizes the man was practically carrying her.

As her knees give out, she collapses to the hospital floor and lets her mother hold her.

And when John kneels next to her, wrapping the two women in a firm embrace, she lets herself cry.

* * *

 

When Felicity finally feels like her legs will hold her again, Diggle helps her over to a chair and sits down next to her. She takes the box of tissues her mother offers her gratefully. As she dries her face, Donna mumbles that she’s going to find them some tea before leaving the room, wringing her hands together nervously.

John sighs deeply, running his hands over his face. Felicity drops her used tissues into the trash can beside her, then stares at the wall across from them.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” she mutters, wrapping her arms around her chest and wishing she was holding Oliver instead of herself.

John nods his head in agreement before glancing over at her.

“Someone needs to call Thea and Roy.”

Felicity nods, her gaze not leaving the painting of a peaceful beach on the wall across from her that she’s decided to fixate on.

It’s a phone call she absolutely does  _ not _ want to make.

“They’re up in the mountains,” Felicity informs him. “They decided to take some time away. It’s a five hour drive.”

John smiles weakly, then pulls his phone out of his pocket.

“I’ll call them. And the rest of the team, too. You should wash up.”

“Wash up?” Felicity asks distractedly, still staring at the painting as if she can leave this room behind her and enter into it.

_ This isn’t happening. This  _ can’t _ be happening. _

_ He was getting  _ better.

“Your hands,” Diggle says simply, and he reaches over and gently pulls her arms away from her chest.

Felicity looks down at her hands, realizing for the first time that they’re caked with Oliver’s blood.

Bile rises in her throat, and she feels like throwing up, but she fights back the nausea as she stands.

“I’ll go wash up,” she agrees, moving off in the direction of the bathroom she noticed earlier.

“Take all the time you need,” Diggle tells her, and Felicity bites her lower lip hard between her teeth as she pushes open the door to the bathroom.

She moves mechanically to the sink, turning the water on and letting it run while she tests out her shoulder. The muscles feel tender and swollen, like she’s strained them, but nothing feels broken or out of place. She makes a mental note to ask a nurse for a hot pack and some ibuprofen. 

She wets her hands under the water before applying a copious amount of soap. She rubs it in, and it’s not long before the foam turns pink. Felicity flinches as she puts her hands back under the too-hot water and scrubs hard at the blood coating her skin.

It takes a good five minutes of washing before the water runs clear, and when she looks back up into the mirror she realizes that she must have started crying at some point. She wipes furiously at her eyes, willing the tears to stop, because she strongly suspects that if she starts again she’s never going to stop.

_ He was getting  _ better.

As she turns to leave the bathroom, she catches a glimpse of her shirt in the mirror, and she moans at the sight of more blood.

Oliver’s blood.

Because Oliver tried to kill himself.

...Because of Prometheus.

Felicity sees red - in more ways than one - and she wants nothing more than to smash her fist into the mirror.

But then the rational side of her brain takes over - as it usually does - and Felicity realizes that lashing out won’t solve anything right now; it’ll only cause more pain.

And she’ll be _ damned  _ if she lets Prometheus cause anymore pain.

The anger drains out of her as quickly as it came on, leaving her feeling weak and tired once more.

She sighs, rubbing hard at her eyes in an attempt to wipe away everything she’s seen.

But she can’t.

She’ll never be able to.

With a heavy heart, she heads back to the waiting room and the comforting presence of her family.

* * *

 

By the time she gets back, her mother has returned with three cups of tea. Felicity takes one as John tells her that he’s called Thea and Roy - who are on their way - and informed Curtis and the rest of the team. They all offered to come and wait with them, but John told them it wasn’t necessary, and promised to keep them posted on any updates.

Felicity strongly suspects that the rest of Team Arrow will end up getting drunk in the bunker.

It’s something they did many times when Oliver was gone.

For the next hour, Donna, Felicity, and Diggle sit in silence, sipping mechanically at their tea.

Felicity doesn’t even realize she’s fiddling with her shirt until her mother offers to go back to the loft and grab her a clean one. She returns an hour later with a fresh set of clothes and Quentin Lance’s arm wrapped tightly arounder her shoulders. Felicity hugs Quentin fiercely, grateful that her mother has someone to turn to.

Half an hour later, Lyla shows up with baby Sara. Digg hugs his little girl tight to his chest with one arm and wraps the other around his wife. Felicity watches the small family support each other, and she feels her heart soar and break all at the same time.

As Lyla leaves to drop Sara off with a sitter, receiving one final hug from her husband, Felicity finds herself wishing more than ever for the comfort and safety of Oliver’s embrace.

* * *

 

Four hours after bringing Oliver to the OR, the doctor finally comes out to speak with them.

While there’s no immediate family present, the doctor agrees to talk to Felicity, and he takes her to the room where Oliver’s resting.

The sight of wires and tubes sticking out of Oliver’s body is both familiar and awful. 

At the doctor’s prompting, Felicity sits in a chair at Oliver’s bedside, and she watches the steady beat of his heart on the monitor across from her as the doctor informs her on his condition.

He explains carefully that Oliver slit his wrists deeply and with precision. The cuts make it obvious that he knew what would cause the most amount of damage, and Felicity feels sick to her stomach as the doctor says it was a clear attempt to end his life.

Then he informs her that, while the cuts will take a long time to heal and he will bear more scars, he  _ will _ heal physically in time.

“It’s the emotional healing that concerns me, Ms. Smoak,” the doctor says carefully.

Felicity nods, and she knows exactly what the man is going to say next.

A mental hospital.

That’s where they’ll want to send Oliver: to a place with white walls and locks on the doors and pills in little plastic cups. A place where she’ll only be allowed to see him at certain times of day.

It’s a place where he might be able to survive...but a place where she knows he’ll never be able to live.

A place where he’ll die in every way that matters.

The doctor means well, and she understands that, but she also knows that if they take Oliver away from her she’ll never get him back.

She’ll lose him all over again, and Prometheus will have won for good.

Felicity’s chest tightens, and she wraps her arms around her stomach and shakes her head as tears rise in her eyes.

And though she knows the words that will come out of the doctor’s mouth next, they hit her hard anyway.

“Based on the severity of his injuries and the clear intent to harm himself, I will need to talk to Oliver’s next of kin about getting him psychiatric help.”

Felicity’s hugs herself even tighter, shaking her head once more.

They can’t take him away from her; they  _ can’t. _

If they take him away from her….

“I should be his next of kin,” Felicity responds, even though she already knows the doctor won’t agree with her.

The doctor shakes his head sympathetically.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Smoak, but as you are neither engaged nor married to Mr. Queen, Oliver’s next of kin would be biological family.”

“Thea,” Felicity supplies, and the doctor nods.

“I will need to speak to her when she arrives,” he tells her, and Felicity nods, even though every fiber of her being wants to rail against the idea that anyone more than her has the right to decide what happens to the man she’s been taking care of for nearly four months.

Felicity wants to believe that Thea won’t send him away...but after everything that’s happened, she’s just not sure.

The guilt she feels as she looks at him lying still and quiet in the bed in front of her threatens to suffocate her.

_ I failed him. _

She can’t lose Oliver; she  _ can’t _ .

But at the same time, if Thea wanted to send him away….

...Felicity’s not sure she would blame her.

“Thank you, doctor,” she responds numbly. She stops fighting the tears and lets them fall, and she can practically feel the man shifting nervously beside her. 

“I’ve asked Dr. Schwartz to come in and speak with me. As his primary care doctor, she’ll understand more about his condition.”

Felicity nods, though she has no idea what the doctor’s saying anymore.

The only thing she can hear is the beeping of the machines attached to Oliver’s silent form.

The only thing she can feel is the crushing weight of guilt in her chest.

The only thing she can taste is her own tears.

She vaguely hears the doctor assure her that Oliver should be awake before morning, and that she’s welcome to stay in the waiting room or go home in the meantime.

She’s only vaguely aware of telling him that she’ll stay.

Only vaguely aware of the doctor leading her back to the waiting room.

Only vaguely aware of Diggle placing a hand on her shoulder after she collapses into a chair.

“Is he okay?” she vaguely hears her mother ask.

And while she’s not aware of telling her lips to move, she hears herself whisper the words,  _ “I don’t know.” _

* * *

 

It takes a blanket, a few sips of tea, and many comforting embraces before she finds the energy to tell her friends and family everything the doctor told her.

When she’s finally done, she covers her face with her hands and moans.

“How could I have let this happen?” Felicity laments. The tears she cried in Oliver’s room have long since stopped, but they’ve left dried tracks on her cheeks.

Donna leans over in the seat next to her daughter and wraps an arm around her, pulling her close. She runs her hand up and down Felicity’s arm, rubbing it gently, and Felicity sighs as she rests her head on her mother’s shoulder and lets her comfort her. “This isn’t your fault, baby,” her mother soothes her. 

“Your mom’s right, Felicity,” John assures her, resting his elbows on his knees so he can lean in closer from his seat across from them. He puts a hand on Felicity’s knee, squeezing it firmly, and Felicity shakes her head, fighting back a new wave of tears.

“I should’ve thought about this,” she responds shakily. “I should’ve...I thought to put locks on all the medicine cabinets, but I never thought to take any of the locks  _ off _ . He shouldn’t have been able to lock himself in the bathroom in the first place. I should’ve seen this coming. I should’ve-”

“Honey, _ breathe _ ,” Donna soothes, pulling away from her daughter just long enough to turn toward her and grip her hands. “You’re going to have a panic attack.”

Felicity nods, not trusting herself to speak, and she sits up straight in her chair and slows her breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth, slow and steady: just like Oliver once taught her and just like she’s done with him on multiple occasions since his return.

When she feels calmer, she nods again, and her mother sits back in her chair, but she doesn’t let go of her hands.

“Felicity, none of this is your fault,” John assures her. “You couldn’t have known Oliver would react the way he did. You couldn’t have known he’d shut you out after being attached to you for so long. You couldn’t have known….”

He pauses, looking down at his hands clenched in his lap, and she knows what he can’t say.

“That he would try and kill himself?” Felicity supplies.

Diggle flinches, and he starts massaging his wrists in what she assumes is an unconscious gesture.

“Yes,’’ he agrees, taking a long, deep breath. “You couldn’t have known he would hurt himself. He’s been getting better; a  _ lot _ better. None of us could have expected that Prometheus would find a way to get to him again.”

Donna shakes her head. “Quentin told me his team was knocked out with sleeping gas. That’s why no one answered his call; why no one came to help.”

Felicity sighs, and she pulls her hands out of her mother’s tight grip to rub tiredly at her eyes. “How did Prometheus even get into the cable company’s network in the first place? And why wasn’t I able to stop him?”

“You can’t blame yourself for that too, sweetie,” Donna tells her gently.

Felicity scoffs.

“Of course I can. Hacking is what I’m good at, Mom.”

“But you were more than a little distracted, Felicity. We both were,” Donna says, and the sudden bitterness in her tone isn’t lost on her daughter. As her mother pulls away, shifting uncomfortably in her chair, Felicity stares at her in confusion. “I didn’t even notice him take your tablet, or leave the room,” Donna continues. “Maybe if I had then-”

“Playing the blame game isn’t going to help anything,” Diggle says stiffly, glancing back and forth between both of the Smoak women. “And besides, there’s only one person to blame for what’s happened to Oliver.”

His tone brooks no argument, and the fire in his eyes is unlike anything Felicity has seen from her usually gentle friend before.

“Prometheus,” Felicity states, and Donna nods her head in agreement, wiping a few stray tears from her eyes. “I don’t understand why he waited so long to try and hurt Oliver again, or….” She gulps, wrapping her arms around her chest as a shiver runs through her. “Or why he wanted to hurt him again in the first place when he….”

She trails off, unable to finish her thought out loud, but they all know what she can’t say.

Why would Prometheus want to hurt Oliver now when he’s already so broken? And why would he wait until Oliver was starting to get better to come after him again?

Why come after him  _ now? _

...Why come after him at all?

“When we find that son of a bitch, I’m going to enjoy making him suffer,” John states, and the coldness in his voice makes Felicity shiver again. She rubs at her arms, and her mother picks up the blanket from where it’s fallen on the chair behind her, wrapping it back around her shoulders.

Felicity holds onto it tightly, fingers clenching around the well worn fabric. It’s only then that she realizes it’s the same green crocheted blanket from the loft. Her mother must have brought it over with the change of clothes.

Felicity pulls it tighter around herself, and it smells like cookies and home...and Oliver. She snuggles deeper into its warmth and comfort, wishing the soft, familiar touch was Oliver’s arms wrapped around her instead.

Sadness and guilt settle hard in the pit of her stomach, and she feels the overwhelming urge to cry, but she doesn’t think she has anymore tears to shed.

Instead she shakes her head, leans over, and covers her face with her hands, letting the blanket fall off her shoulders once more.

“ _ He was getting better,”  _ Felicity whimpers, her voice breaking against her will. 

“ _ Oh, honey,” _ her mother whispers.

And as Donna wraps her arms around her daughter once more, Felicity buries her face against her mother’s shoulder and holds on tightly.

A few minutes later, Thea and Roy arrive, and Felicity has to explain to them what happened.

She has to tell them how she failed him.

* * *

 

Oliver’s loved ones spend a long night in the hospital waiting room.

Lyla comes back a little while after Roy and Thea arrive. Baby Sara is safe with her ARGUS trained sitter, and Lyla wants to be there for her husband. She and John sit off in a corner of the room, talking quietly to each other. At one point, Felicity looks up to find Lyla hugging John close as silent tears pour down his cheeks. 

Quentin offers to stay with them, and while Donna tells him he doesn’t need to, he stays anyway. A little before sunrise, Donna asks him if he’ll take a walk with her, and the two of them leave the waiting room hand in hand.

Roy and Thea sit in silence. Every once in awhile Thea looks over at her and smiles weakly, and Felicity wants nothing more than to sink into the floor.

As heavy as her soul feels right now, she thinks that just might be possible.

She wants to tell Thea she’s sorry - that she should have done more to protect her brother - but everytime she opens her mouth to speak she loses her nerve. Instead she wraps the blanket tighter around her shoulders and stares off into space, losing herself in her own guilt ridden thoughts.

When John asks if she should get her shoulder checked out, Felicity realizes she’s been rubbing it absentmindedly for awhile now. She asks him for a hot pack and some painkillers, and he comes back five minutes later with some supplies from a passing nurse.

Every once in awhile someone will ask her if she wants something to eat, but she just shakes her head. The idea of anything other than water makes her feel sick.

Around nine in the morning Donna returns with two cups of tea in hand. She offers one to Felicity and she takes it, but only to make her mother feel better. The soothing peppermint - her favorite when she’s feeling on edge - tastes like nothing.

As Quentin passes around cups of coffee and tea to the rest of their group, a loud, piercing shout echoes down the hallway.

Felicity’s heart seizes in her chest, and she stands on shaky legs.

A second shout resounds, even louder than the first, and the cup of tea hits the floor, splashing hot liquid down her pants, but she doesn’t feel it.

The only thing that matters is that Oliver’s finally awake….

...and he’s screaming for her.

* * *

 

_ I wasn’t there for him,  _ Felicity thinks as she bolts down the hallway toward the sound of his voice.  _ I wasn’t there for him and now he’s panicking and GOD why wasn’t I there for him? _

She calls his name as she runs, desperate to find him.

He screams again, and Felicity turns one final corner and finds him in the first room on the left. He’s thrashing in the arms of two male nurses, while a female nurse attempts to jam a needle into his arm.

“This is going to help you sleep, Mr. Queen,” the nurse consoles him, trying desperately to find a vein amidst his relentless thrashing. She’s almost got it in when Oliver screams “FELICITY!” and pulls away from her, struggling hard. Yet another nurse moves to help hold him down, and the woman with the needle looks at him sympathetically. “You’ve been hurt badly, Oliver, and you’re only going to hurt yourself more if you keep fighting like this.”

Oliver shakes his head, letting out a terrible scream. 

“Monster!” he shouts, and the nurse flinches, looking taken aback, but Felicity knows Oliver isn’t talking about the woman trying to shove a needle into his arm.

Finally, Felicity finds her voice.

“Oliver, stop this!” she says, moving farther into the room so he can see her past the hospital staff.

Oliver turns to her, tears of frustration burning down his cheeks, and he stops struggling.

“Felicity!” he says with a shake of his head, and she sighs, moving in closer. One of the nurses lets go of him, backing off to give her space to move in closer, and Oliver stares at her. His muscles are stiff and tense, ready to fly at any moment, but he’s no longer thrashing. The nurse with the needle slowly moves it toward his arm while he’s distracted.

“It’s okay, honey.  _ It’s okay, _ ” Felicity soothes him. “This isn’t like before. They’re going to help you.”

Oliver watches her, eyes open wide...and then the needle hits his vein. He flinches, jerking his arm away from the woman, but it’s too late.

“ _ Felicity…”  _ he whines, and the look of betrayal in Oliver’s eyes breaks her heart.

“This will help you rest some more, Oliver,” Felicity tells him. “But I’ll be here when you wake up again. I promise.”

Oliver falls back against the pillows as the drugs quickly begin to take effect. He shakes his head, his lower lip trembling as he turns away from her, muttering her name quietly.

_ “Felicityyy….” _

“I promise, Oliver. I promise.”

Oliver whines as the drugs pull him under, and Felicity puts a hand over her mouth to muffle a sob as he goes limp.

“You’re in good hands, Oliver,” the nurse who injected him assures him, as though he can still hear her in his unconscious state. She steps back as one of the male nurses carefully arranges his body along the bed, laying his arms out at his sides, while the other begins to tie a fabric restraint around one of Oliver’s upper arms.

“Is that...is that really necessary?” Felicity asks, her voice shaking hard against her will.

“It’s just a precaution,” the nurse assures her as he works to secure Oliver’s other arm. “We don’t want to risk him causing further injury to himself when he wakes up.”

Felicity nods in understanding.

But the sight of Oliver unconscious in the hospital bed - arms cuffed to the railings, tears drying on his face, and bandages wrapped around his wrists - makes Felicity feel sick to her stomach.

She excuses herself, fully intending to go back to the waiting room to be with her family, but she never makes it.

Instead she finds the nearest bathroom and throws up until there’s nothing left in her stomach.

Then she goes outside to take a walk.

* * *

 

Felicity keeps her promise to Oliver. 

She’s standing at his bedside when he wakes up a day later.

She’s tired and dirty and more than a little hungry - the sandwich her mother had begged her to eat has long since come back up - but she’s there.

John’s with her, too; he and Thea and Donna have taken turns waiting with her.

When Oliver opens his eyes, Felicity makes sure that she’s the first thing he sees.

“Hey, handsome,” she says with a small smile. “I’m glad you’re awake. I’ve missed you.”

Oliver gazes around the room, taking in his surroundings. He tenses - most likely because he doesn’t recognize the unfamiliar hospital room - and he tries to move but his arms are still tied to the guardrails on the bed. He whines, looking at her in confusion. As he pulls harder against his restraints, he whines louder, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes.

Slowly, Felicity reaches out and grips the end of the guardrail in both hands. “The doctors didn’t want you to hurt yourself,” she explains carefully.

Oliver’s gaze moves down his arms to his bandaged wrists, and Felicity flinches.

It’s too late for that, isn’t it?

Felicity sighs, her heart aching for Oliver, and she desperately wants to touch him but he’s tense and she doesn’t want to set him off.

“I’ll take the restraints off for you, sweetie,” Felicity offers, “but I need you to promise that you won’t….”

She can’t say it; God help her, she can’t say it.

It’s killing her to talk to him like this. 

It’s killing her to ask him not to run; to beg him not to hurt himself when he just tried to take his own life.

The entire situation feels like something out of a nightmare, and she wants to scream and cry and hurl things just as much as she wants to climb back into her chair and do nothing.

But Oliver needs her.

He needs her here and he needs her to be strong….

...only she’s not sure how much strength she has left.

And then John moves to stand beside her.

“Oliver, we need you to promise that if we take off these restraints you won’t try to run away, and that you won’t try to hurt yourself.” He speaks in a calm but stern voice - one Felicity’s heard him use countless times with Sara when she acts up - and it seems to do the trick.

Oliver looks from John to Felicity and back again.

Finally, he nods.

John smiles and nods back, then he asks him one more time just to be sure.

“Do you promise, Oliver?”

Oliver nods again, more vehemently this time, and his fingers twitch as though he’s trying to sign the words to prove it.

“All right. I’m going to untie the restraints now, Oliver,” Johns says.

Slowly and carefully, Diggle unties the straps. Once they’re undone, Oliver rubs at his arms one at a time, and Felicity’s grateful to find that there are no bruises or marks from the fabric.

When he’s finished inspecting his upper arms, Oliver’s gaze falls to the bandages around his wrists.

“Do you remember what happened, honey?” Felicity asks him gently, and Oliver looks back up at her, his right hand resting on his left wrist. He rubs his thumb against the fabric softly, but he hasn’t started picking at it, and she takes that as a good sign.

After a moment of silence, Oliver nods.

“How are you feeling, Oliver?” Felicity asks, leaning in closer to him. She lets go of the guardrail and puts a hand on his lower arm, squeezing it gently….

...and when Oliver pulls his arm away, Felicity feels like she’s been punched in the stomach.

As Oliver lies back against the pillows, Felicity’s heart hammers hard in her chest.

“How...how do you feel, baby?” she asks, and her voice is shaking so badly it’s a wonder she even gets the words out.

Oliver sighs, resting his left arm against his stomach. He stares down at the bandage on his left wrist, still stroking it lightly, as though he’s not even aware that he’s doing it.

Felicity’s chest grows tighter.

“Oliver...can you use your words for me?” she asks, hoping desperately that she can get him to sign something for her.

Oliver’s fingers twitch faster against his wrist, and she thinks maybe he’ll finally say something….

...but then he shakes his head, whimpering softly.

Felicity gasps quietly, and even though her brain is screaming and her heart is breaking she nods, doing her best to keep it together.

“Okay. That’s okay, sweetie. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” she assures him.

Oliver nods. Then he shifts his body slowly in the bed, settles back farther against his pillows….

...and turns away from her.

Felicity glances over at John, who’s standing stiffly next to her. When he crosses his arms over his chest, she copies him without thinking. The uncertainty and fear in Diggle’s eyes mirrors her own, and Felicity shakes her head, unsure of what to do. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes, and she turns away from her friend, looking back at Oliver.

“Are you tired, sweetie?” she asks him gently.

Oliver blinks, but he doesn’t look up at her. He keeps stroking the bandage on his wrist, but he’s not hurting anything, and she doesn’t want to upset him by asking him to stop.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she tells him. “Just nod or shake your head.”

And finally, Oliver nods his head; so subtly that she almost misses it.

“Are you tired, Oliver?” she tries again.

He shrugs one shoulder, burrowing further into the pillows as though he’s trying to escape, and it’s taking every bit of willpower Felicity possesses to keep herself from screaming.

“Do you...do you want us to leave?”

She feels like she’s going to throw up. God, she’s going to lose it any second now. She can feel the walls of the room closing in around her.

Finally, Oliver answers her: another shrug of his shoulder.

“Oliver, I don’t….” 

She doesn’t know what to do for him.

She doesn’t know what to do for him, and it’s not like every other time she hasn’t known, because at least before he would  _ communicate _ with her, even though it was in his own way. At least before he would give her straight answers, or use his sign language, or frown, or laugh.

At least before he would look at her.

Now he won’t even say her name.

He’s silent, entirely silent, and it shakes Felicity to her core.

She would give anything just to hear him say her name; to know that she hasn’t lost him completely.

Again.

Felicity closes her eyes and takes a long, deep breath to try and calm herself.

Well, if he’s not willing to talk to her, then she’ll have to try talking to him.

“Oliver...I know you’re hurting right now. I can’t imagine what you’re going through,” she says quietly.

Oliver flinches, scratching harder at the bandage on his left wrist, and Felicity reaches out before she can stop herself.

“Don’t,” she says softly, grabbing his right arm and pulling it away in an attempt to get him to stop. “Oliver-”

He jerks his arm out of her grip like he’s been burned, and she watches helplessly as he moans, shaking his head at her. Felicity takes a small step back from his bed, her chest so tight and her heart hammering so painfully it feels like she’s dying.

She looks over at John, silently begging him to help her.

And he comes through for her, just like he always does.

“Oliver, you promised you wouldn’t hurt yourself, remember?” John asks, moving forward to take Felicity’s place at Oliver’s bedside.

Oliver continues to stare at his wrists, refusing to meet his friend’s gaze, and John tries again.

“Oliver, look at me,” he says, his tone somehow soft and commanding at the same time….

...and it does the trick.

Oliver looks up at John, nodding slowly, and John sighs.

“You remember the promise you made to us, right?” John tries again, and Oliver looks down at the bandage on his wrist. His right hand moves to touch it, but he jerks it back at the last second and settles it in his lap.

Finally, he looks back up at Diggle and nods.

“Thank you, Oliver,” John says with a grateful smile, and he leans over and places a strong hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “You’re being incredibly brave, Oliver. You know that, don’t you?”

Oliver doesn’t answer, but he also doesn’t pull away from John’s touch, and Felicity chokes on a sob.

It’s too much; all of it.

It’s too much.

Diggle lets go of Oliver’s shoulder and stands up straight again. 

She can’t take it anymore. 

“Oliver...please look at me,” Felicity begs, her voice trembling, and something about her tone must finally get through to him, because Oliver meets her gaze for the first time since he woke up.

And for the first time since he woke up Felicity gets a real look at the fear and immeasurable pain in his eyes.

The reason he’s refused to look at her since he woke up feels unbelievably clear.

He blames her.

The knowledge settles heavy in her stomach, and Felicity takes a step back, her legs shaking under the weight of her own guilt. She’s about to take another step, and she stops only when John rests a comforting hand on her arm.

But she can’t stay in this room anymore. She can’t look at Oliver and see how she’s failed him.

Thankfully, John is as perceptive as ever.

“Felicity, why don’t you call Thea and let her know how her brother’s doing?” he suggests. “I can sit with Oliver for a little while.”

Felicity nods, grateful as always for John Diggle’s friendship.

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. I’m going to let John sit with you while I call your sister, okay, Oliver?” Felicity asks.

Oliver remains still and quiet, and Felicity needs to run before she falls.

“Okay. Okay. I’ll...I’ll be back, honey,” she mumbles, pulling away from John’s grip.

And then she runs.

But she doesn’t run to the waiting room.

She doesn’t run to Thea or any of the rest of her family.

She makes it to the bathroom just in time, and she finds the room empty...which is lucky for her, because she knows she wouldn’t be able to stop what happens next no matter how hard she tried.

She didn’t think she had anymore tears to shed….

...but she was wrong.

Felicity falls to her knees against a heater, wraps her arms around her chest, and sobs.

* * *

 

Diggle watches Felicity leave the room, his heart aching for her. Oliver’s been nothing but edgy and distant since he woke up, and he can’t imagine how that’s affecting her, especially considering that she and Oliver have been so close for the past four months.

As the door closes behind her, Digg turns away from Oliver and grabs a nearby chair, dragging it closer to his friend’s bedside.

“It’s just you and me now, Oliver,” John tells him as he sits down.

Oliver watches him curiously, paying more attention to him than he did to Felicity.

John lets out a long, deep sigh. He has no idea what’s going through Oliver’s head right now, or why he seemed so reluctant to be near Felicity. Maybe Oliver feels guilty for what happened - which isn’t a stretch, considering Oliver’s penchant for blaming himself. Maybe he just hates the hospital - with its bright lights and needles and the restraints on his arms that probably remind him of his time being tortured. Maybe he’s still suffering from the memories that awful video triggered in his mind.

Maybe he’s just in too much pain.

Whatever the reason, John knows he has to try and get through to him now.

John Diggle has been to war and back.

He’s seen horrors no man should ever have to see.

He’s lived through torture and pain and hellfire.

He’s seen the worst of humanity...but he’s also seen the best.

Some of the best just walked out of the room...and some of the best still sits in front of him; a shell of the man he once was.

But John refuses to believe that that man is gone for good.

He won’t give up on his brother; not now, not ever.

Maybe he can reach Oliver now in a way that Felicity can’t.

Soldier to soldier.

One haunted man to another.

Brother to brother.

“How are you feeling, Oliver?” John asks, sitting back in the chair and resting his hands on his knees in an unassuming position.

Oliver shakes his head, unwilling to answer.

Diggle tries a different tactic.

“On a scale of one to ten, how’s your pain?”

Oliver frowns, shifting slightly on the bed, and it’s clear that John now has his attention. He’s seen Donna and Felicity ask Oliver this question before, whenever he’s indicated to them that he was in pain, and John hopes that the familiarity of the question will make him more likely to answer.

Finally, Oliver points to his bandaged wrist.

“Yes, there,” John says.

Oliver thinks for a few seconds, then holds up two fingers.

Diggle nods, sure that - even in Oliver’s current state - he’s probably downplaying his level of discomfort.

“Good. That’s good, Oliver,” John encourages, smiling warmly. “Now what about...here?” John asks, pointing at Oliver’s head. “And here?” he prompts gently as he points at Oliver’s chest. “How would you rate the pain there?”

It’s another thing he’s seen work for Oliver in the past - a hand to the head or chest indicating emotional rather than physical pain - and Oliver understands immediately. John can tell, because instead of answering him Oliver closes his eyes and whimpers, wrapping his arms around his chest. 

It’s all the answer John needed (and all he expected) but at least Oliver’s interacting with him.

“So a ten,” John offers, and Oliver nods his head in agreement.

Diggle scrubs his hand over his face and sighs, at a loss for what to do for his friend. He watches as Oliver strokes his right hand along his left arm - just above the bandages - in an attempt to soothe himself without breaking his promise.

Digg looks over Oliver’s shoulder at the closed hospital door, wishing Felicity was here with him. He wonders where she went; if she sought comfort in the arms of her loved ones, or if she went off somewhere to be alone with her grief. He knows she’s done it before, even if she’d never admit it to him.

Or to Oliver.

John knows Oliver’s hurting, and it breaks his heart to see his friend in so much pain...but he knows Felicity is hurting, too. He wonders if Oliver recognizes that, or if he’s (understandably) too caught up in his own pain to really see it.

Knowing Felicity, she’s never let Oliver see her break.

Heart aching for his two best friends, John Diggle comes to a decision.

“She blames herself,” Diggle admits quietly.

Oliver jerks his head up to look at him. John flinches under the weight of what he’s just said - he hadn’t meant to be so blunt about it - but now that the words are out there he can’t take them back.

“Felicity blames herself for what happened to you. Not the kidnapping, but….” He gestures at the bandages on Oliver’s wrists, unwilling to say the words “attempted suicide” out loud. “She blames herself for letting you out of her sight; for not being able to stop the video signal. I told her that Prometheus is the one to blame, but...well, there’s only so much I can say to convince her otherwise,” John finishes, and he looks pointedly at Oliver.

Oliver looks back down at his hands, but his fingers finally stop moving against his skin.

“You don’t need to talk to me if you don’t want to, Oliver,” John assures him, and Oliver nods his head slightly in understanding. “But I hope you’ll listen to what I have to say. Are you willing to hear me out?”

Oliver takes some time to consider, and John’s about ready to give up hope when Oliver finally looks up at him and nods.

Diggle takes a long, deep breath to steel himself, and when he’s done he leans forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees and looking carefully at Oliver.

“You’re not the only one who’s hurting, Oliver,” John says quietly, and his voice trembles just the slightest. Oliver moans softly, but he doesn’t turn away, and Digg takes that as a sign to continue.

He clears his throat once and keeps going.

“And I get it, of course I do. I can’t even imagine the kind of pain you’ve been through these past six months. But you should know….” Diggle sighs heavily, leaning in a bit closer to Oliver. “Felicity is  _ strong _ \- stronger than any of us, as you’ve said more than once - but she’s in pain. She won’t let you see it, because she knows you need her to be strong, but…she’s not doing well.”

Oliver shifts uncomfortably under John’s gaze, blinking rapidly against the tears building in his eyes, and it’s clear that he’s hearing what John is saying.

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad, Oliver. I promise.” Digg reaches over and puts a strong hand on his friend’s shoulder, and while Oliver flinches, he also doesn’t pull away. “It’s just that…we’re all trying here, man, and we need you to do the same: just like you always have.”

Oliver shakes his head, tears falling silently down his cheeks, and Diggle leans in closer, not letting go of Oliver’s shoulder.

“I meant what I said before, Oliver. You’re brave, and you’re  _ strong _ ; stronger than you’ve ever given yourself credit for. You can make it through this, I know you can...and we’ll be here to help you every step of the way. Felicity, me, your sister, Donna, and the rest of your family and friends.” He squeezes Oliver’s shoulder firmly, and the act gives him the strength to continue. “We love you, Oliver...and we are  _ not _ going to give up on you,  _ not ever _ ...and we need you to not give up on yourself.”

Oliver gasps, whimpering softly. He shifts under John’s touch, trying to pull away, and Digg releases his hold on his friend’s shoulder. Oliver closes his eyes and turns his head to the side.

John leans back in his chair, scrubbing his hands over his face once more. He wants to comfort his brother, but Oliver won’t even look at him, so Diggle just sits quietly as Oliver cries, offering the only support he can.

When Oliver’s finally cried himself out, he looks exhausted.

“I’m gonna let you get some sleep, Oliver. Would you like me to leave?” John asks.

Oliver nods his head almost imperceptibly, but Diggle understands. He gets to his feet, ready to leave...but at the last second he reaches down and runs his fingers gently through Oliver’s hair, right along his forehead. It’s something he used to do with Andy, many many years ago, when his little brother had trouble sleeping. Oliver flinches, but he doesn’t pull away, and John runs a soothing hand along Oliver’s brow. He can feel Oliver relax under his touch, and it gives Diggle just a little bit of hope.

“Get some rest, brother. We’ll be here when you wake up,” John assures him. Then he runs his hand through Oliver’s hair one more time and leaves him alone to rest.

* * *

 

When John doesn’t find Felicity in the waiting area - and a quick search of the ladies room by Thea comes up empty - he shoots her a text, wanting to check up on her. Her absence from the hospital doesn’t surprise him, but it doesn’t exactly make him hopeful.

A minute later, Felicity lets him know where she is. Both Donna and Thea offer to come with him, but this is a talk he’d rather have with her alone.

A short walk later, he enters the small garden out behind the hospital to find Felicity seated at a bench -  _ her  _ bench, as she’d referred to it. He stops in front of her, gazing down at her silently. Her eyes are dry but her face is red, and it’s clear she’s been crying.

“I don’t understand, John,” Felicity says, staring at a patch of flowers under the tree next to her. “ I don’t understand how one video can undo almost four months of healing.”

Diggle sighs, and he sits down on the bench next to her. He reaches out a hand to comfort her, then thinks better of it.

“I can’t know anything for sure, but...it sounds like Prometheus used that video as a trigger,” he says.

Felicity looks up at him with wide eyes, and John wishes like hell that he didn’t need to have this conversation with her. 

“A what?” she asks.

“A trigger. It’s a torture technique. I’ve never seen it used myself, but...I’ve heard stories. Something about that video triggered painful memories for Oliver. Memories of what he’s done in the past, or memories of his capture. Prometheus used it to bring back everything Oliver felt when he was being tortured. It’s like...like every bad thing Oliver felt came rushing back to him all at once.”

“Oh my god,” Felicity whispers.

“It must’ve been a powerful trigger to do what it did to him. Not just the….” John pauses, still unable to say the word, and he strokes a hand along the inside of one of his wrists. “But that word. ‘Monster.’”

Felicity chokes on a sob, and John can’t stand it anymore. He puts a hand on her knee, squeezing it tightly. When Felicity grabs his hand and squeezes, John squeezes back, and he takes comfort as much as he gives it. 

“I hate it,” Felicity admits. “I hate...I hate that  _ word _ , and...and I hate that after four months of nothing but ‘Felicity’ the next thing he says is….”

She can’t say it, and Diggle can’t blame her. The word “monster” tasted like ash rolling off his tongue.

“More than anything I hate  _ him,” _ Felicity admits, and she grips John’s hand so tightly he would’ve flinched if he were a smaller man. “I hate what he’s done to Oliver; what he’s  _ still _ doing to him.”

“I know,” John says carefully, gripping her hand back just as tight.

Neither of them says anything for a long time.

John sits quietly and holds her hand, staring out into the garden. It’s quite beautiful, really. He wonders how he’s never noticed it before.

Then he thinks about all the time Felicity may have spent out here.

The times Oliver’s been on a table. 

The time Thea nearly died. 

After Laurel passed away.

During her own recuperation.

How many times has she sat on this bench alone? Or with her mother?

Or with Oliver?

John squeezes her hand hard, tears rolling silently down his cheeks, and he whispers Felicity’s name so quietly he’s not even sure she hears it.

But she does.

At least, she must, because she takes a long, deep breath and sits up straight next to him, finally breaking the silence.

“Oliver isn’t a monster, John.”

“I know,” he agrees with her.

“And he doesn’t deserve what’s happening to him.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

Felicity grips his hand tightly, and when she finally turns to look at him there’s a fire in Felicity Smoak’s eyes that simultaneously scares him and fills him with hope.

“I don’t know why Prometheus is doing this to him, or why he ever did this to him. I don’t know what he wants from Oliver. But I am  _ not  _ going to let Prometheus have him. I  _ won’t _ . I don’t care what it takes.”

John smiles, and his heart swells with love and admiration for the small but fierce young woman sitting next to him.

“That’s my girl,” John says, squeezing her hand, and Felicity smiles back at him before facing forward once more. Then she leans in and lays her head on his shoulder. John rests his head on top of hers, and the two of them take comfort in each other.

“It’s up to Speedy now,” Felicity says, and John sighs, wondering what Thea will decide to do. Will she let them commit her brother in an effort to save him...or will she let him go home?

“It’s her choice,” Felicity admits. “And I won’t stand in the way of whatever decision she wants to make. But John-”

“I know,” Diggle says, and he grips her hand tighter than he has before.

Felicity finishes her thought anyway.

“If they take him away from me…we’ll never get him back.

John sighs, and a few tears escape his eyes, wetting the top of Felicity’s head.

It’s all up to Thea.

* * *

 

Later that day, Thea speaks at length with the doctors….

And then she speaks with Felicity.

Five days later, Felicity takes Oliver home.

According to Thea, there was never any choice to make.

_...tbc… _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are appreciated as always. Thanks for reading. :)


	13. For Better or Worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly warning: this is one of the darkest chapters of the story. Make sure you’ve got some tissues handy.
> 
> As always, I want to thank everyone for their patience. I know it's been awhile since I've posted, but you've all been incredibly understanding. I couldn't ask for better readers. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**< \--Chapter Twelve: For Better or Worse--> **

While Thea agrees that Oliver is better off staying with Felicity, the two of them still fear that Oliver may try to hurt himself again. Felicity briefly debates finding somewhere else to stay - someplace much smaller, where she can keep a better eye on Oliver - but she decides against it in the end, because she’s afraid that moving him to an unfamiliar place will only make things worse.

And so, a few days into Oliver’s recuperation at the hospital, Felicity returns to the loft and - with help from John - she sets the place in order.

They start by cleaning up the mess in the bathroom, which takes more time than it probably should because Felicity can barely stand to spend more than a few minutes in the room at a time. After sweeping out all the bits of glass and removing every last piece of the broken mirror, John tries to clean the floor, but it’s been too long and the stains from Oliver’s blood have set in. After five minutes of hard scrubbing, John sits back against the wall. He’s breathing heavily, his whole body shaking, and Felicity pulls him from the room without a second thought and decides to have the tile ripped up and a carpet installed in its place, rental lease be damned.

After that, she and John take more than a few precautions around the rest of the loft. First they take all the locks off the doors - save for the lock to the front door - and add a more secure lock to the door leading out to the balcony. Next, Felicity takes every dangerous household cleaning product and locks it under the kitchen sink while John puts all the knives into one drawer, which he also locks. Then they both remove all the mirrors in the loft save for a small pocket mirror, which Felicity puts in the locked medicine cabinet with Oliver’s pills. 

Deciding to err on the side of extreme caution, Felicity also gets rid of the TV, offering it to John for the time being. She keeps her tablet, laptop, and phone because they’re all necessary (and less hackable), but she decides to keep them either locked up in a filing cabinet or on her person at all times.

Later that afternoon, Felicity helps Lance beef up the security at the building across the street where Oliver’s protection force is stationed, in the hopes that if Prometheus tries anything else, they won’t be caught unawares again.

Sitting around the dining room table that night eating Big Belly Burger with John, Felicity gazes around the loft. She’s done anything and everything she can think of to prevent Oliver from hurting himself again. She has no idea if Oliver will relapse without a trigger from Prometheus, but she doesn’t want to take any chances.

She can’t go through this again.

* * *

 

During Oliver’s week long stay in the hospital, he remains quiet and distant. He answers basic questions with a simple nod or a headshake, and he very rarely signs anything. When he does, Felicity notices that it’s only with John, Thea, or Donna; never with her. He doesn’t like to be touched - by  _ anyone  _ \- and the only thing that stops him from panicking when the nurses try to touch him is John’s firm reassurance that everything is going to be okay. He spends most of his time resting, and when he’s not asleep his friends and family try to get him to interact with them, but Oliver shows no interest in anything.

Though Oliver’s unwilling to interact with them, his loved ones do their best to keep him company anyway. They play quiet games on the floor of his room, or have muted conversations while sitting around his bed, in the hopes that something will spark his interest.

Every once in awhile Felicity catches Oliver looking at her out of the corner of her eye, but as soon as her gaze meets his he turns away from her. Try as she might, Felicity can’t get him to pay attention to her. He won’t answer her questions or sign with her, no matter how hard she persists, and when Felicity reads to him from time to time, she can tell he’s not listening.

Oliver hasn’t said her name at all since he woke up in the hospital screaming for her.

But then...he also hasn’t said the word “monster,” and Felicity clings tight to that fact as the distance Oliver puts between them threatens to suffocate her.

* * *

 

It takes a few days for the news of Oliver’s condition to reach the media. Felicity never finds out if it’s a nurse or a patient or a hospital visitor who blabs, but in the end it doesn’t really matter. What matters is that Oliver’s name ends up splattered all over newspapers and internet sites, attached to headlines like  _ Former Star City Mayor Oliver Queen Unfit for Office  _ and  _ Former Billionaire Playboy turned Mayor Oliver Queen Mentally Unstable.  _

Felicity tries not to let it upset her; it was only a matter of time before people found out just how bad off Oliver really is. But after about the tenth variation on the headline  _ Oliver Queen’s Failed Suicide Attempt,  _ Felicity finds herself yearning for payback against whoever leaked the news.

But revenge is something she doesn’t have time for….

...because when Felicity brings Oliver home, he’s almost worse off than he was when she rescued him four months ago.

* * *

 

The day she brings Oliver home from the hospital, the two of them sit quietly at the kitchen table eating a simple dinner of toast and soup (pretty much the only thing Felicity can’t screw up in the kitchen).

“Honey, you’ve barely touched your food,” Felicity laments, pointing at the bowl from which he’s only taken a few spoonfuls. “I thought you liked chicken noodle.”

Oliver shakes his head, taking out a spoonful and dumping it back into the bowl. 

“I know you prefer John’s soup, but John couldn’t be here tonight, so I had to heat up one of the cans. I know you hate canned soup but-”

“Felicity,” Oliver says quietly, stopping her babbling in its tracks.

She gasps, her spoon clattering to the table.

It’s the first time he’s said her name in a week.

“Ye-yeah,” Felicity stutters, finding it hard to catch her breath. “Yeah, baby, I-”

“Felicity,” Oliver says again, louder and more emphatically this time, and she bites her lower lip, nodding her head slowly.

Oliver takes a long, deep breath, his right hand gently massaging the bandages at his left wrist. She’s seen him scratch at the bandages from time to time, but so far he’s been true to his word, and he hasn’t done anything to hurt himself or upset the stitches.

She watches him carefully, heart hammering in her chest, and her dinner threatens to come back up the longer he sits there staring down at his hands in silence.

Finally, he lifts his hands in front of his face...and he signs a few words.

_ Please don’t feel bad. _

“Oh, Oliver,” Felicity murmurs, and the words pour out of her before she can stop them. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for what happened to you. I’m sorry I let you get hurt, and that I let him-”

“Felicity!” Oliver shouts, and she jumps, taken aback by the sudden show of emotion when he’s been nothing but quiet for so long.  _ Not your fault,  _ Oliver signs, and there’s a forcefulness in his motions that tells her he’d be shouting the words if he could.

“You don’t blame me,” she says quietly, and Oliver nods emphatically.

_ Not you,  _ he signs, shaking his head in emphasis. Then he places his hands flat on top of the table, and she notices that they’re shaking.

“Okay,” Felicity agrees, and she leans over the table and gently lays her hands on top of his. He doesn’t flinch, and he doesn’t pull away, and she sighs with relief. “Okay, honey, I understand.”

Oliver sighs, long and deep, and Felicity feels lighter than she’s felt since before John pulled Oliver out of the bathroom. Then he moves his hands out from under hers, and he signs the words “not you” again before pointing at his own chest.

_ Me. _

“What?” she asks.

He points at himself again, pushing his finger against his chest. He does it a few more times, pushing harder each time, until Felicity gets it. Her hands clench into fists against the table, and she shakes her head.

“No, Oliver. What happened was not your fault,” she assures him. “It was Prometheus. It’s always been him. He’s the one who did this to you.”

Oliver shakes his head as he starts to cry silently. Then he signs,  _ I’m sorry. _

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for, honey,” Felicity soothes him, and she reaches out to grab his hands but he pulls them away from her and moans. Then he points at his left wrist and signs,  _ Sorry,  _ again.

“You don’t need to apologize, Oliver. It’s okay.”

_ “F-Felicityyy,”  _ Oliver whimpers, and he points at himself and signs the word “sorry” yet again.

“It’s okay, sweetie, it’s okay,” she soothes as she gets out of her chair and moves around the table toward him.

Oliver whines, shaking his head, and he hits his chest with his fist and rotates it a few times, signing that he’s sorry for a third time. He repeats the motion over and over, signing the word “sorry” like he can’t stop, and she can’t bear to see him like this. By the time she reaches him he’s just rubbing hard at his chest, on the verge of hyperventilating.

“Easy, Oliver, easy. It’s okay,” she assures him, and she grabs his hand and pulls it away from his chest.

Oliver turns to her with a sob and rests his head against her stomach.

“ _ Shhh, it’s okay.  _ It’s okay, baby, I’m here.” She rests one hand at his back, rubbing soothing circles against him, and the other hand she places at the back of his head, pulling him closer.

Oliver shakes his head against her, crying softly, and as his tears soak her blouse he pulls his hand from hers and wraps his arms around her waist. He pushes his hands up under her shirt, seeking the comfort of her skin against his, and she feels his bandaged wrists rub against her lower back.

She almost lost him, but she didn’t. He’s still here, and he still needs her.

And she needs him.

“I love you, Oliver,” she tells him. “It’s going to be okay.”

And while she’s not sure she believes it, she needs  _ him _ to. So she says it again and again, holding him close as he cries.

“It’s going to be okay.”

* * *

 

That night, Oliver has one of the worst nightmares he’s had since his first week home. She sits next to him, afraid to touch him lest she make it worse, and she watches helplessly as he thrashes in his sleep, tears pouring down his cheeks as he fights against whatever force is attacking him. She does her best to wake him, calling his name loudly and assuring him that he’s having a nightmare. She watches for three of the longest minutes of her life, and just when she’s decided to shake him awake, her own safety be damned, Oliver shoots up in bed with a scream of her name.

It takes her a good ten minutes to calm him down from his panic attack, and when his breathing and heartrate are finally under control he’s drenched in sweat, muscles cramping from exertion and stress. She helps him to the upstairs bathroom, shouldering the majority of his weight in a way she doesn’t think should be possible. As she runs a hot epsom salt bath she strips off his soaked clothes, then puts a pair of gloves on his hands, securing them below the wrists to keep his stitches from getting wet. When she’s done Oliver whimpers, and his legs are trembling so violently that when he takes a step toward the tub they give out. But Felicity catches him, and somehow she keeps him from falling. 

“I’ve got you,” she assures him.

Slowly and carefully, she helps him into tub. Once he’s standing inside, he won’t let go of her, and so Felicity climbs in after him, realizing that she probably wouldn’t be able to let him go anyway. The two of them sit down in the tub - Felicity still in her sleep clothes - and when she’s finally settled Oliver back against her chest he whines, his muscles still spasming uncontrollably. Felicity holds him close, massaging his cramped muscles as best she can in the tight space. She talks soothingly as she works, muttering words of comfort and telling him happy stories from their time in Bali. 

Half an hour later the water’s gone warm and Felicity feels like her own muscles are ready to cramp, but Oliver’s aches have been soothed and he’s gone quiet and still in her arms, his head resting on her chest. His breathing is slow and steady, but his eyes are still wide open, and she knows she should get him back to bed.

Slowly and carefully, the two of them climb out of the tub. She dries him off, then sits him on the edge of the tub as she peels off her wet clothes, dropping them in a pile on the floor. She dries herself off, then grabs his hands and helps him downstairs. Both too tired to bother with clothes, they crawl back under the covers. Oliver rests his head against her breasts, and Felicity gasps as she presses her naked body against his for the first time in four months. The warmth of his skin against hers soothes her, and she knows it must do the same for him because he sighs, wrapping his arms around her back and pulling her closer. Felicity rests her face against the top of his head, wrapping her arms around him in kind, and she relishes the feel of his body entwined with hers.

Then she sings “Hey Jude” to him until his eyelids grow heavy.

Just before he falls asleep, he whispers the word “ _ Fe-LI-ci-ty”  _ against her skin, and she presses a kiss into his hair as she tells him she loves him, too.

Fearing for what’s to come, Felicity falls asleep with a silent prayer on her lips. 

_ Please let him be okay. _

* * *

 

Over the next few days, Felicity’s optimism slowly dies.

She knows she should be grateful that Oliver is still alive, and she  _ is _ ...but after all the hard work they’ve put in - after the slow and careful healing that he’s undergone - watching Oliver regress is one of the hardest things Felicity has ever had to do.

She could kill Prometheus with her bare hands for doing this to him.

Oliver is quiet -  _ painfully  _ quiet. He only answers simple questions, like if he’s hungry or thirsty or if there’s something he wants to do. He gives one word answers in sign, and he rarely says her name anymore.

Felicity doesn’t think he was this quiet even right after she first brought him home nearly four months ago.

She watches Oliver lose interest in the things he’s grown to love. He no longer enjoys watching soaps with Donna or movies with Quentin and John. Felicity still reads to him every day, but it’s clear that he’s not really hearing what she’s saying.

She watches miserably as Oliver seems to shut down. He still eats, but only when she asks him to. He has no desire for Big Belly Burger or her mother’s cookies - his two favorite foods since he came back. He refuses all of John’s efforts to get him to exercise, and after five days Felicity has to resort to begging in order to get him to agree to a bath. As she washes him, Oliver sits silently and stares off into space.

Nothing seems to hold his attention anymore. 

Except for his drawings.

He shows no interest in the drawings covering the walls, but every once in awhile, Felicity catches him leafing through his completed art pads: the ones filled with the Bad Drawings. He loses himself in their pages, thumbing through image after image of his worst memories. Felicity begins to worry, but it’s not until she catches him quietly muttering the word “monster” that she takes the pads away from him and sits him down in front of her computer to watch a Disney movie.

A few days later, Oliver grabs the pads off the shelf and sits down to draw for the first time in two weeks. Felicity allows herself to feel hopeful; it’s the first time he’s shown an interest in anything since she brought him home. She lets him spend the afternoon drawing...but there’s nothing happy to be found in his drawings that day. Instead, Oliver draws scenes of horror and misery, and every image has the word “monster” scrawled across it somewhere.

That night, Felicity reads to him from  _ The Hobbit _ . It’s a book they’ve read together many times, and she hopes the familiar words might inspire something happier in him the next day.

But they don’t.

Instead, Oliver’s drawings get worse. She lets him continue drawing for a few days, hoping something might change. But when she comes out of the bathroom one night to find Oliver sobbing over a page that just has the word “monster” written on it over and over, Felicity takes all of Oliver’s art pads and drawing instruments, tosses them in a bag, and asks John to take it away for her. She worries that Oliver will become distraught and ask for everything back, but he never does, and somehow that worries her even more.

The drawing clearly isn’t helping him; not anymore.

Nothing is.

But the worst part, by far, is the nightmares. 

Oliver has bad dreams every night, and more than once a night Felicity finds herself being jerked out of her sleep to the sound of Oliver screaming or crying or shouting her name. She does her best to wake him without touching him, because in his unconscious, fragile state she knows even a comforting touch could be perceived as threatening. As the days drag on, Oliver’s dreams get worse and worse, and it becomes harder for Felicity to bring him out of them.

About a week after bringing him home, Oliver has a nightmare that’s so bad it takes her five minutes to wake him. When he finally wakes, his limbs flail uncontrollably, and his right hand smacks her hard across the face. It stings, but not nearly as much as the pain and fear she sees in his eyes. She doesn’t tell him about the hit. Instead she holds him close and rubs his back in soothing circles, singing quietly.

It takes her nearly two hours to calm him, and when he finally passes out from exhaustion Felicity finds herself too wired to join him in sleep. Instead she calls John, even though it’s four in the morning. She tells him about Oliver’s nightmares, and when she admits that Oliver accidently hit her, Diggle tells her that something needs to be done.

The next day, when Felicity suggests that Oliver see Dr. Martinez again, Oliver shakes his head. He doesn’t want to see the therapist, and no amount of begging from Felicity will convince him. So Felicity calls up the doctor herself that afternoon, and she’s able to prescribe a stronger dose of sleeping pills for Oliver to take.

John comes over that evening to cook them dinner. Afterward, while Oliver sits and watches a movie on Felicity’s laptop, John offers to stay over for the night. Felicity doesn’t think it’s necessary - Oliver would never really hurt her - but in the end she agrees, because she knows John will feel better if she does.

Over the next two weeks, John visits once a day and spends every other night sleeping on an air mattress in the empty master bedroom (Felicity knows he would spend every night there if she didn't force him to go home to his wife and daughter). He cooks dinner and cleans during the day. At night, he sits patiently with her as she attempts to wake Oliver from his nightmares. 

Most nights, John offers her purely emotional support - someone to talk to after she’s soothed Oliver back to sleep - but sometimes, she needs him for more. On rare occasions, Oliver wakes suddenly, unsure of where he is, and John holds him still while Felicity assures him that he’s safe at home. On even rarer occasions, Oliver wakes violently - arms and legs thrashing unconsciously against an unseen foe - and John’s quick, strong intervention is the only thing that keeps Felicity from getting kicked in the stomach or punched in the face. On those nights, John holds him until he calms down and comes back to reality. Then he moves away so Felicity can calm him back to sleep.

Felicity never lets Oliver know when he comes close to hurting her. It’s not his fault, but she knows he won’t see it that way, and the guilt would just break him even further.

One night, about two weeks after bringing him home again, Oliver accidently hits John hard across the face.

Once Felicity has calmed Oliver back to sleep, she apologizes to John profusely, offering him a fresh ice pack for his swollen cheek.

“It’s nothing,” John assures her, taking the ice pack gratefully. “I’ve had much worse.”

Felicity sighs, leaning against the counter next to her friend and watching him sadly.

“Still, John, I-”

“Please don’t apologize, Felicity,” John whispers, and Felicity bites back her apology at the sound of his voice breaking. “I promise you, this is nothing. This is...there’s just not much I can do for him, and….”

He trails off, and Felicity knows how he feels; all too well.

The helplessness John’s been feeling since they brought Oliver home four months ago...she’s starting to get a taste of it herself.

John sighs, removing the ice pack from his face and placing it down on the counter.

“It’s not much,” he admits, “but I have to do  _ something _ .”

“I know, John,” Felicity assures him. “I know.”

She pulls him in for a hug, and when John’s body trembles with silent sobs, Felicity whispers, “I appreciate everything you do for us...and I know Oliver does, too.”

The next night, when Oliver points at the bruise on John’s face, John makes up a story about how he hurt himself sparring with Rene. 

Oliver looks at him curiously, but in the end, he goes back to his dinner.

Felicity sighs deeply, and as she picks at her food she finds herself fearing that things are only going to get worse from here.

* * *

 

Oliver is never left alone; Felicity makes sure of that. She refuses to leave the house, and she rarely lets Oliver out of her sight. She lets Curtis run her business, working from home when she can, and she lets Diggle do the shopping and the cooking.

As the weeks pass, John spends more and more time with Oliver and Felicity….

...and as the weeks pass, her mother and Thea do the opposite.

Thea tries to get Oliver to look through their old photo albums, or show him her favorite drawings on the walls, but Oliver shows no interest in her or anything she has to say. After two weeks of one word responses and empty looks, Thea’s visits become fewer and farther between as she chooses to spend her time with Roy and the rest of the team in their continued hunt for Prometheus.

Donna tries to help out, too, but when her attempts to get through to Oliver fail as well, she picks up more shifts at the bar and starts to spend her nights at Quentin’s place.

Felicity misses her mother, but she understands. She knows Thea and her mother feel useless, and Felicity can’t blame them….

...because she’s starting to feel the same.

* * *

 

One night, Felicity wakes up screaming Oliver’s name.

She sits up in bed, panting heavily, before curling her legs up to her chest. She presses her palms against her eyes and whimpers as scenes from her nightmare play out over and over again in her mind. It’s a nightmare she’s had many times before: Felicity sits behind her computer in the Arrow Cave, and she watches helplessly as a man with no face snaps Oliver’s neck.

Felicity opens her eyes with a shudder. Then she untangles the blankets from her limbs and tries to will her breathing to return to normal. As she adjusts the covers over her legs, she finds that she can’t stop shaking, and she looks over at Oliver. She’s desperate to feel his arms around her; to hear him tell her that it’s going to be okay.

But he’s fast asleep.

And that’s when it hits her.

Hard and fast, like a knife through her chest.

_ Oliver might not be able to tell her it’s going to be okay ever again. _

She’s woken from nightmares many times in the past, and Oliver’s always been there to comfort her.

But now….

Felicity moans, and though she doesn’t want to wake him, she’s also scared and distraught and she needs him.

And so Felicity lies back down, scoots closer to Oliver, and rests her head over his chest. She listens to the strong, steady sound of his heartbeat, and as her own heart slows to match the beat of his, she wraps one arm around him and snuggles in closer.

A few minutes later, she falls asleep to the feel of his chest gently rising and falling underneath her.

…

……

…

Half an hour later, she’s jerked violently from her sleep when Oliver wakes with a scream.

Felicity feels tired and drained in more ways than one, but when Oliver looks at her with tears drying on his face, she digs down deep and finds the energy to comfort him.

Two hours and a soothing bath later, Felicity stares down at Oliver’s sleeping form...and for the first time since she rescued him, she wonders how much longer she can do this for.

* * *

 

She finally falls asleep around sunrise.

And as she sleeps, she dreams.

But they’re not nightmares this time.

Instead….

_...She dreams about the first time she woke up screaming in pain after her spinal cord injury. _

_ She awakens to sheer agony as the muscles in her thighs and lower legs cramp and spasm, a result of the disconnect between the nerves in her spinal cord and her brain. She’s been warned about possible complications from her injury, but nothing could’ve prepared her for the reality of it.  _

_ Her screams wake Oliver, and he springs into action without hesitation, somehow knowing exactly what he needs to do. He massages her legs firmly, whispering soothing words to her as she sobs uncontrollably and holds onto him tight, head resting in his lap and fingers clutching desperately at the hem of his shirt. _

_ After five minutes, she can’t bear it anymore. _

_ “ _ Please. _ Please, Oliver, make it stop,” she begs him. _

_ A pause in his ministrations and a slight hitch of his breath are the only signs he gives her that he’s close to falling apart himself. _

_ Yet in the end, Oliver is nothing but strong. _

_ He picks her up and carries her to the bathroom, then sets her down gently on the floor and starts running water in the tub. _

_ Felicity moans, clutching at his legs as he dumps a few things into the bathwater. _

_ “Oliver,” she whimpers. _

_ “I’m here, honey. I’m right here,” he assures her, kneeling down beside her. _

_ He goes back to massaging her muscles until the tub is full. Then he undresses her as carefully as he can. Felicity feels sick to her stomach at the sight of her muscles visibly spasming under her skin, but Oliver never flinches. Instead he picks her up and places her gently in the tub. Then he strips off his own clothes and climbs in with her. After some careful maneuvering, he situates her in his lap and begins massaging her muscles once more. _

_ Felicity cries softly the entire time. _

_ But in that moment, wrapped tightly in Oliver’s familiar embrace, she doesn’t feel weak  or ashamed. She feels safe, and she feels cared for. _

_ So she allows herself to break. _

_ And as she falls apart in Oliver’s arms, he holds her close and tells her he will never leave her. _

_ Half an hour later, Oliver pulls her out of the tub, dries them both off, and carries her back to bed. The spasms have been reduced to a dull ache, thanks to the massages and the warm bath and the medication…. _

_...and thanks to him. _

_ Felicity falls asleep with her head on Oliver’s chest, letting his strong heartbeat soothe her. _

_ As Oliver plants a kiss against the top of her head and tells her how strong she is, Felicity feels loved in a way she never has before…. _

_ … _

_ …… _

_ …  _

_ She dreams about the first time she woke up from a nightmare about Havenrock. _

_ She’s alone, and scared, and as the images play over and over again in her mind even though she’s awake, she feels like she can’t breathe. _

_ She doesn’t think twice about calling him. _

_ Oliver answers on the second ring, and when the only word she can get out through gasps for air is his name, Oliver knows exactly what she needs. _

_ It’s not the first time Oliver’s helped her through a nightmare, and it won’t the last. _

_ After establishing that she’s not hurt, Oliver slowly and carefully walks her through the breathing exercises. His calm, even tone soothes her from the start, and as Felicity breathes in and out at Oliver’s prompting, she feels herself begin to relax. _

_ “That’s it, Felicity. Nice and slow, just like I taught you,” he tells her as she holds her breath for three seconds. _

_ “You’re doing great,” he assures her as she holds her breath for five. _

_ “I’m proud of you,” he says as she holds her breath for seven. _

_ Five minutes later, the band around her chest has finally loosened and she feels like she can breathe again. _

_ “Oliver….” _

_ She wants to thank him, but she doesn’t know how. They’re not together anymore, and she has no right to ask him to help her like this. _

_ “You don’t need to thank me,” he says anyway, and Felicity bites back a sob as he continues. “We’re still friends, Felicity. I’ll always be there if you need me.” _

_ … _

_ …… _

_ … _

_ She dreams about the night before Oliver’s kidnapping. _

_ She’s invited him into her bed, but they’re both exhausted, and instead of making love they fall asleep in each other’s arms. _

_ She wakes an hour later with a scream, trembling and drenched in sweat: the image of Oliver lying dead in the snow with a sword through his chest burned into the back of her brain. _

_ “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” his soft, reassuring voice says from beside her. _

_ She turns to him, and there’s no sword in his chest; only a scar left behind from one of many times she’s almost lost him. _

_ “Oliver,” she whimpers, and his arms are around her before she can take another breath. _

_ “It’s okay, I’m okay,” he soothes her. “I’m not going anywhere.” _

_ She sobs against his shoulder, taking strength from his comforting embrace and his calming words. _

_ She doesn’t know how to thank him; for this...for everything. _

_ She doesn’t think she can ever repay him. _

_ How can she ever give him everything he’s given her? _

_ He tells her he loves her, and she tells him she loves him, too, but it doesn’t feel like nearly enough. _

_ And then- _

She wakes up.

But there’s no screaming, or crying, or thrashing. Oliver’s sleeping soundly next to her, mouth open slightly as he quietly snores. 

The clock on the bedside table says that it’s almost noon. Somehow they’ve both managed to get nearly six hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Felicity smiles at Oliver’s calm, peaceful form, and while the remnants of her dreams slip through her mind’s eye like so many grains of sand through her fingers, Felicity finds the memories of those moments becoming stronger.

She remembers how Oliver was there for her during her paralysis. How he helped her through the physical and emotional and psychological pain of losing her ability to walk.

She remembers how Oliver was there for her after Havenrock, even though they were no longer together.

She remembers the nightmares and panic attacks he’s calmed her down from. Remembers the aches and pains he’s soothed away with comforting words and gentle touches. Remembers the fears and doubts he’s dispelled with nothing more than his overwhelming love for her.

_ This _ is how she can repay him for everything he’s done for her.

_ This  _ is how she can help him. 

By continuing to be there for him the way he’s been there for her.

By continuing to use the techniques he taught her to help him through his pain.

By being calm and level-headed and strong: just like him.

By never letting him see her break.

She’s slowly been repaying him for the past five months, and she can’t stop now.

She can’t give up, no matter how hard it gets….

...because Oliver has never given up on her.

He’s been there for her before, and now she wants to be there for him; she  _ needs to _ . She owes him this...and more than that, she _ loves him. _ She loves him and she wants to help him heal.

Oliver needs her to be strong now, and that’s what she’s going to be.

As Felicity slowly drifts back to sleep, she vows that no matter how tired she feels, no matter how hard it is, and no matter how bad it gets, she’s going to be there for him.

For better or for worse.

* * *

 

As the days go by, Felicity clings tightly to her newfound dedication as things quickly go from bad to worse.

She finds herself plagued by more and more of her own nightmares. Oliver never wakes up, though - far too caught up in his own bad dreams to notice hers - but when she scoots over and holds him close, sometimes he’ll roll over in his sleep and hold her back, and it helps.

Meanwhile, Oliver’s nightmares continue to worsen. The sleeping pills help him fall asleep, but they do nothing to keep away the nightmares; none of the pills he’s taking seem to help with them.

When Felicity wakes to the sound of Oliver screaming or the feel of him thrashing next to her, she does her best to wake him. On the nights when John stays over, the two of them work together, attempting to coax Oliver awake without unintentionally provoking him. John stands by, ready to intervene on those rare occasions when Oliver unintentionally loses control. 

Eventually, a month passes….

And the nightmares continue.

Oliver only eats when she begs him to, and he starts to lose weight again.

He shows no interest in anything. He won’t look through the drawings on the walls or watch anything on her laptop (as though he’s afraid the video will show up again) and when she reads to him it’s like he’s not even in the same room as her.

He starts to have more panic attacks when he’s awake; sometimes triggered by nothing at all, sometimes triggered by something as simple as a bath.

It’s clear that Oliver still relies on her and trusts her, but Felicity can’t seem to help him with his pain the way she used to.

Every day she feels more and more helpless.

…

……

...

But she never stops fighting for him.

* * *

 

Five weeks after bringing Oliver home from the hospital, he has one of the worst nightmares Felicity’s ever seen.

She wakes to the sound of a bloodcurdling scream. She sits up quickly in bed, heart racing, and as she looks over at Oliver he lets out another scream. She’s just about to call out to him when he jerks violently away from her. Without warning, the blankets Felicity has wrapped around her body are yanked to the side, and she’s pulled toward the edge of the bed as Oliver crashes to floor.

“Oliver!” Felicity shouts, attempting to extricate herself from the blankets tangled around her legs. “Oliver, wake up!”

Finally, she gets them undone, and she stumbles out of bed, knees crashing hard against the wooden floor.

She gasps at the sight of Oliver thrashing in front of her. His eyes are open, and she thinks he’s awake, but he’s clearly not conscious of where he is or what’s going on. His limbs flail uncontrollably around him, and Felicity finds her voice.

“JOHN!” she screams, but he’s already there, kneeling down next to them a second later. John calls Oliver’s name firmly, and when Oliver keeps thrashing, John grabs his upper arms, trying to keep him still so he doesn’t hurt himself.

Oliver screams, the sound setting Felicity’s teeth on edge, and he stops flailing instantly. 

It’s the only warning they get.

Before she knows what’s happening, Oliver reaches up, grabs John’s left wrist, and twists it hard.

John shouts in pain, letting go of Oliver, and Felicity screams.

“OLIVER!”

He turns to her, and while he’s stopped flailing, his body is still shaking.

“Oliver, it’s okay. You’re okay,” Felicity assures him, and Oliver stares at her long and hard.

And then John lets out a quiet groan from behind him.

Oliver jerks away like he’s been burned, and he crawls away from them faster than Felicity thought possible. He stops once he reaches the wall by the front door, and he collapses against it, breathing heavily.

He looks at her with wide, frightened eyes, and Felicity gets to her feet with a groan. She walks toward him slowly, trying not to frighten him. When she reaches him she stops, holding out her hands placatingly.

“Easy, Oliver, easy. It’s okay,” Felicity soothes him, and she very slowly kneels down next to him on the floor.

Oliver turns his gaze from her back to John, who’s still sitting on the floor where they left him, cradling his left wrist against his stomach. Tears leak from Oliver’s eyes, and he leans back against the wall and pulls his knees up to his chest. Then he buries his face against them and whimpers, putting his hands over his head, like he wants to shut out the world.

Felicity reaches out to Oliver, desperate to comfort him, but she knows she needs to check on John, so she stands and moves back to her friend.

She already knows it’s bad; she won’t forget the sound of it anytime soon. Still, when John whispers, “I think it’s broken,” Felicity moans and shakes her head.

John needs to go the hospital, and as Felicity helps him to his feet, she worries about how he’s going to get there. He can’t drive himself with a broken wrist, but she also can’t leave Oliver here alone like this.

Luckily, John’s two steps ahead of her. 

“It’s okay, Felicity. I’ll get someone from the team to drive me to the hospital.”

Felicity nods, looking down at his twisted wrist. Guilt floods her instantly, but before she can open her mouth to apologize, John stops her.

“It’s all right, Felicity. It was just an accident. I’m going to be fine.” 

She nods her head, believing him..but when she looks back over at Oliver, it feels like her heart is ripping in two.

“John-”

He doesn’t let her finish her sentence. Instead he bends down and kisses the top of her head.

“Just make sure he’s okay,” John whispers against her hair, and Felicity nods as he heads upstairs to call someone for a ride.

Felicity watches Oliver silently, unsure of what to say. She watches him until John comes back downstairs, shoes on his feet and phone in his hand.

“Curtis is coming,” John whispers, and Felicity nods.

A quiet moan sounds from behind her, and she turns her gaze back to Oliver. He’s raised his head from his knees, and he’s looking at her with dried tears on his face.

_ “Felicityyy,”  _ he whines, and Felicity moves slowly toward him as John leaves the loft.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” she assures him, moving closer. “It’s okay.”

Oliver looks toward the door John just left through, then turns back to Felicity and shakes his head.

“ _ Felicity?” _

She sighs, and she kneels down in front of him on the floor. “It’s all right, honey. Everything’s going to be fine. John just-”

“FELICITY!” he shouts her name, and she flinches. Oliver rubs his hands along his legs, fingers twitching, and she knows he wants to say something.

“Oliver….” she reaches out slowly and puts a hand on his knee, but he pulls away from her and shakes his head.

Then, with trembling hands, he signs the words,  _ I hurt him. _

“Oh, honey, no,” Felicity whispers, shaking her head gently. “No, Oliver, it was an accident.”

Oliver whines, then turns away from her. He closes his eyes and presses his palms against his eyelids, shaking his head vehemently.

Then he whimpers her name.

“ _ Felicity….” _

“I’m here, baby,” she assures him, and when she touches his knee again he doesn’t pull away this time. “I’m right here.”

Oliver finally looks back up at her, and he’s crying once more.

Slowly, he brings his hands in front of him, forming two L-shapes with his fingers. Then he bring his right hand up to his forehead and moves it down to his left.

It’s a sign Felicity knows, but has never seen him use.

It’s the sign for “brother.”

He signs it twice more, like he’s trying to get used to the way it feels. After the third, he lets out a sob. 

Then he points to himself and signs three words.

_ I hurt brother _ .

It’s the first time Oliver has referred to John by anything other than a signing of his name, and Felicity’s heart breaks as she watches him sign the words again.

_ I hurt brother. _

She doesn’t know what to say. She can’t explain to him that it was an accident, because she knows he won’t see it that way, but she just can’t bear to see the guilt in his eyes.

She opens her mouth to say something -  _ anything  _ \- to soothe him...and then he speaks. 

“Monster,” Oliver whispers.

Felicity moans quietly, and she closes her eyes as Oliver says it again.

“Monster.”

It’s a word she hasn’t heard in almost a month; one she’d never wanted to hear ever again.

He says it again, louder this time. Then he points to himself and says it once more. Frozen with grief, Felicity watches Oliver call himself a monster over and over, jabbing his finger into his chest every time he says it.

Then he hits himself hard in the chest, and Felicity feels like she can move again.

She grabs his hands quickly - one in each of hers - and she pulls them away from him. He tries to fight, but she’s stronger than he is, and she moves his hands to her shoulders. She holds them there until he stops struggling, and when his hands finally still under hers she lets go. He holds on to her shoulders for a few seconds, then squeezes tightly - just like she wanted him to. Then Felicity gets up on her knees, leans in over him, and grips his face between her hands. 

“You are NOT a monster, Oliver,” she tells him, stroking his cheeks gently with her fingertips. Oliver tries to shake his head, but she holds on tighter, stilling his motions. “No, Oliver.  _ No. _ You’re not.”

“Fe-Felic...mmmm-monster!” Oliver whimpers, and Felicity shakes her head.

“No, baby. No.” She strokes her fingers along his cheeks again, wiping away his tears, and Oliver gasps under her touch. “Oliver, I….”

She gazes at him long and hard, searching desperately for the right words.

She can’t bear to see him like this: angry and scared and guilt ridden and in pain.

She loves him so much.

She…

She smiles as an idea comes to her.

Still gripping his face gently, Felicity leans in slowly. She moves closer and closer, until she’s just close enough….

...to place a soft kiss against his forehead.

Oliver whimpers, squeezing her shoulders tightly, and when Faelicity pulls away she smiles at him.

“I love you, Oliver. You know that, don’t you?”

He nods immediately, like he doesn’t even have to think about it, and that thought alone makes her feel more hope than she’s felt in a month.

Felicity pulls back slightly, then she lets go of his face and grips his shoulders instead.

“Oliver...I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you if I thought you were a monster. I wouldn’t have stood by your side these past five months if I didn’t know  _ exactly  _ the kind of man you really are. You’re kind, and selfless, and loving...and you’re a hero.”

Oliver pauses for a few seconds...and then he shakes his head.

“Monster,” he tells her.

She shakes her head back at him. Then she reaches up and grips his hands, pulling them off of her shoulders, and she squeezes them tightly.

“No, Oliver. No.”

“Mo...monster,” he says again, voice trembling slightly.

She drops his hands into his lap, then moves around to his side. Oliver watches her carefully the whole time. When she’s kneeling next to him she reaches out and wraps her arms around him, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. Oliver tenses in her arms.

“I love you,” she says quietly.

With a moan, Oliver’s body grows slowly limp. When she says it again, his head collapses against the top of hers. He’s trembling violently now, and she squeezes him tighter, running her hands up and down his arm. 

Finally, he drops his knees away from his chest, and he turns slowly in her arms. She readjusts her grip on him, wrapping her arms around his back instead. Then she rests her head against his shoulder, rubbing his back soothingly in an attempt to stop his shaking.

“M...m….mmmmm….”

Felicity sighs, and she leans up and kisses him softly on the cheek before whispering two words against his skin.

_ “My hero.” _

Oliver whines, bowing his head. 

And finally,  _ finally,  _ he rests his head on her shoulder and starts to sob.

Felicity holds him close, muttering softly as she does her best to comfort him.

“Shhhh, it’s okay. It’s okay, my love. I’m here. I’m here.”

…

……

…

Twenty minutes later, Felicity puts Oliver back to bed. She gives him the highest recommended dose of sleeping pills, and Oliver takes them without question.

Ten minutes later, she soothes him back to sleep.

Then Felicity sits silently on the couch, watching Oliver sleep while she waits for a call from John.

Around three in the morning, John calls to tell her that his wrist is indeed broken.

She apologizes even though Digg tells her not to, and she feels guilty, even though he tells her not to do that, either.

When she hangs up the phone, Felicity wraps a blanket around her shoulders and burrows into a corner of the couch. Then she buries her head in her hands and wills herself not to cry.

Half an hour later, she wakes from a fitful sleep to the sound of Oliver moaning.

And as she watches Oliver struggle in the throes of yet another nightmare, Felicity comes to a sudden and harsh realization.

This could be long term.

_ More _ than long term….

Maybe this is it.

Maybe Oliver's too far gone. 

Maybe there’s no going back. 

…

……

...

Maybe this is their new normal.

* * *

 

After Felicity comforts him back to sleep once more, Oliver finally manages to get a few good hours of rest. 

Felicity doesn’t sleep a wink. 

Around noon - feeling more tired and drained than she’s felt in a very long time - Felicity calls her mother and asks her to stay with Oliver. Then she goes for a long walk in the park to clear her head.

Without really knowing where she’s going, she finds herself outside the memorial dedicated to the 500 people who lost their lives in the Undertaking.

She studies the names long and hard, until her gaze lands on one in particular.

Thomas Merlyn.

Felicity smiles sadly, and she kneels down next to the statue, squinting against the bright afternoon sun as she looks around the bottom.

Eventually, she finds what she’s looking for, carved in rough letters and hidden amongst dozens of other hand-carved epitaphs at the base of the stone memorial:

_ Tommy Merlyn: brother, friend, and the best man I ever knew. _

Oliver carved it himself a few days after the monument was erected.

Felicity runs her fingers along the letters, trying to remember what Tommy looked like.

She never got to know him very well herself….

...but Oliver loved him.

Just like he loved his mother and his father.

Just like he loves his family and friends even now; despite everything he’s been through.

He doesn’t deserve what’s happening to him. 

He deserves to be happy and healthy and whole.

As her knees start to fall asleep, Felicity bows her head and says a silent prayer.

_ Come back to me, Oliver. Please. _

Later that night, she climbs into bed with Oliver, hoping against hope that she can save the man she loves.

She’s tired, so tired, but she can’t give up on him; she won’t.

She needs to help him.

She needs to find a way to get through to him.

She needs a miracle.

If anyone deserves one, it’s Oliver Queen.

* * *

 

Three nights later, Felicity wakes to the sound of a bloodcurdling scream.

She shoots up in bed, looking immediately over at Oliver, who’s thrashing violently next to her.

“Oliver, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”

Oliver moans, continuing to writhe helplessly in the throes of his nightmare.

She tries again, louder and more firmly this time.

“Oliver, you’re having a dream. I need you to wake up.”

He doesn’t, and Felicity opens her mouth to call for John when she remembers that he’s home with his family tonight.

Carefully, Felicity scoots closer to Oliver, hoping he might somehow sense her presence.

It’s no use.

Try as she might, she can’t get him to wake up. He’s caught deep in something terrible, and as seconds turn to minutes and screams turn to wails, she feels herself starting to panic.

She can’t help him if she’s panicking, too.

She needs to wake him up.

She can’t bear to see him like this.

…

……

…

She knows better than to touch him….

...but she can’t stand it anymore.

“Oliver, wake up!” she shouts, and she puts a hand on his shoulder and shakes him.

Time seems to slow down and speed up all at once.

One second she has her hand on Oliver’s shoulder….

...and the next….

...Oliver is on top of her…

...and his hands are wrapped around her throat.

“Ol-Oliver,” she gasps, fingers grasping at his hands as he squeezes tightly. “Olvr-don’t.”

But it’s like he can’t hear her. His eyes are open, but his pupils are dilated, and there’s a wild, terrifying look in his usually gentle eyes.

Oliver’s awake, but he’s far, far away.

Felicity struggles underneath him, trying to buck him off, but he’s too big and too strong.

Her eyes start to water as she fights for air.

“Oliver, please,” she manages to get out, but he only squeezes tighter in response.

As her vision starts to fade around the edges, a surge of adrenaline rushes through her - her body’s last ditch effort to save itself - and she uses it, finding the strength to pry his fingers away from her throat just far enough that she can gasp out one last plea.

“Oliver, it’s me. It’s your Felicity.”

His eyes widen, and even in the dim light she notices his pupils contract considerably.

She watches him come back to her….

...and with a strangled cry of her name, Oliver lets go of her throat.

Felicity inhales greedily, sucking down precious, life-giving air as the spots in her vision fade away. As oxygen rushes back into her lungs, she coughs violently, her whole body shaking. She feels a weight lift off her chest at the same time that she hears a low, miserable whine, but she’s too focused on breathing to realize what’s going on.

It’s not until she hears the sound of glass breaking that it hits her.

“Oliver!” she gasps, sitting up in bed quickly, and the room spins around her because there’s not enough oxygen in her blood.

Her vision clears just in time to watch Oliver drop one of the heavy dining room chairs to the floor.

The glass that used to make up the door to the balcony lies in thousands of shattered pieces at his feet. 

She barely has time to shout the word “NO!” before Oliver moves through the opening, climbs over the balcony railing, and disappears into the night.

_...tbc… _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I'm sorry.


	14. Tears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's my birthday, so here’s a present! It’s short, but I should have the next one up pretty soon. Also, please note I bumped the chapter total up from 16 to 17. The penultimate chapter started getting WAY longer than I expected it to.
> 
> No real warnings for this chapter, but I would suggest having extra tissues on hand because I think you’re going to need them.

**< \--Chapter Thirteen: Tears --> **

Felicity flies out of bed and runs toward the shattered door, somehow managing to avoid the shards of glass on the floor.

“Oliver!” she shouts into the night, and she looks down over the balcony, heart in her throat.

Relief washes through her when she spots him moving down one of the nearby fire escapes. She has no idea how he managed to climb over there, though. Oliver’s been known to scale buildings on numerous occasions, of course, but she had no idea he had that kind of strength in him nowadays. She assumes it’s the fear and adrenaline - the same fear and adrenaline that has her heart racing as she watches his feet hit the pavement.

She screams his name again, though of course he can’t hear her. She pays close attention to which way he runs, and as he turns the corner and vanishes from her sight Felicity flies back inside her apartment with a moan.

“No, no, no, no, no, NO!” she shouts, her voice still raw from Oliver’s chokehold. She moves quickly over to the nightstand to grab her phone. “This isn’t happening,” she mutters, her fingers tapping quickly at the screen as she pulls up John’s number. 

As the phone rings, Felicity paces nervously across the floor, mumbling the word “no” to herself over and over.

She can’t believe this is happening.

She can’t believe he ran away.

She can’t believe-

She hears a voice on the other end of the line at the same time that she spots two pools of dark red blood amidst the broken glass by the balcony.

“Felicity? What’s wrong?” she hears someone ask, but her blood is pounding hard in her ears. She lifts her left foot, then her right, and there’s no cuts and no blood there.

Which means it’s Oliver’s.

“Felicity!” she hears a shout, and she shakes her head as John Diggle’s voice breaks through the haze in her brain. “Talk to me,” he tells her firmly.

She whimpers quietly, and when the next two words leave her mouth it feels like the world is falling out from underneath her.

“Oliver’s gone.”

* * *

 

John makes it to her apartment in record time.

“Any luck?” he asks as he closes the front door behind him.

Felicity pounds furiously at the keys on her laptop, willing her search program to run faster.

“This is taking too long!” she shouts, pounding her fists on the table in frustration, and she feels a strong, warm hand land on her shoulder.

“Easy,” John soothes her. “We’ll find him, Felicity. He’ll be okay.”

“You can’t know that,” she tells him, turning her head around to look up at him. “You can’t.”

He stares at her quietly for a moment. When he speaks, it’s in a firm, even tone.

“You’re right. I can’t.” Then he squeezes her shoulder and smiles. “But I have to believe that...because we need to stay calm and focused if we want to find him. Right?”

A quiet sob escapes her, and she puts her hand over her mouth and closes her eyes, willing herself not to cry. When she thinks she has her emotions under control, she opens her eyes again and nods.

“You’re right. You’re right, we need to find him, and we can’t do that if we fall apart.”

“Exactly,” John says smiling down at her, and he lets go of her shoulder. He eyes her carefully, his gaze falling on her neck. “How do you feel?” he asks, gesturing at her neck, and Felicity shakes her head and turns back to her laptop.

“I’m fine. A little sore, but I’ll be okay. It’s not me we should be worrying about right now, John.”

John sighs. “Let me at least get you an ice pack.”

“I said I’m fine,” she snaps, her fingers tapping away at the keyboard. “I’ll feel better when we find Oliver.”

“Any idea where he might have gone?” John asks, looking over her shoulder as she scans various video feeds throughout Star City. “Some place he likes to go when he’s not here? Some place he feels safe?”

Felicity shakes her head.

“I can’t remember the last time he went somewhere that wasn’t the hospital, and God knows he wouldn’t go there. At least not by choi-.”

Suddenly, dozens of scenarios fly through her head all at once. He could’ve been hit by a car, too distracted by guilt and fear to pay attention to what he was doing. He could’ve been attacked by someone...or something.

Maybe he hurt himself.

Maybe he’s bleeding to death as they sit here looking for him.

Maybe he’s already dead.

Maybe-

A loud beeping pulls her from her morbid thoughts, and she shouts in triumph as an image pops up on her laptop.

“There!” she gasps, pointing at the screen. “He’s on the corner of Washington and First.”

He’s moving fast, sticking to the shadows. He seems to be limping slightly, but he’s blissfully alive.

When he drops out of sight of the traffic camera that’s currently showing them his image, her program shifts instantly to the view from the next camera in his path. She curses herself for not thinking to put some tracking nanites in him, but she hadn’t exactly been prepared for this.

She’d been prepared for almost anything...but not for this.

“Where is he going?” John wonders as Oliver moves out of sight. They wait with baited breath for Felicity’s program to pick up the next image, and when it does, Felicity gasps.

She should’ve thought of this sooner. Oliver may be a different man now, but a part of him clearly still remembers the way.

“The bunker,” she says, standing from the table and moving to gather her things. “He’s going to the bunker.”

* * *

 

John drives as fast as he can. Luckily, it’s three in the morning, so the streets are mostly deserted. 

They make it to the old campaign office in record time.

Felicity’s heart pounds painfully in her chest as they step over the threshold and she flicks on the lights.

“He’s here,” John says shakily, and Felicity wonders why he sounds so certain.

Then she spots the bloody footprints on the floor.

“Oh, god,” she moans, but she doesn’t allow herself time to dwell on it, because the need to find Oliver is strong; almost primal. She moves across the floor, following Oliver’s footprints, and it feels like there’s a force deep in her chest that’s pulling her to him - like an invisible thread connecting her to Oliver.

John pushes the hidden button for the elevator and they climb inside. As the elevator descends, Felicity takes a few deep, slow breaths, willing herself to relax. 

Oliver must be so scared. She can’t imagine what he’s feeling right now.

After everything he’s been through - the torture and the nightmares and the pain - she can’t fathom how it must feel to have guilt piled on top of that.

She doesn’t blame him, not in the least, but she knows that Oliver will blame himself for what happened to her. She runs a hand across her throat, wincing slightly, but the pain is insignificant.

The only thing that matters is making sure Oliver’s okay.

When the elevator doors open, Felicity and John step out and survey the room. Felicity spots a trail of blood leading off to the back corner of the bunker where they keep some of the training equipment. As they quietly follow the smears of red, a dull thudding noise grows louder and louder. 

Felicity’s heart races faster as she worries about what they’ll find.

Finally, they move around a small partition, and Felicity sighs with relief.

He’s okay.

Or at least, he’s alive.

Because the more she watches him the more she realizes that Oliver is far from okay.

He’s shirtless, dressed in nothing more than the sleep pants he ran out of the loft in, and sweat drips down his body as he lets loose on the wooden dummy in front of him. But he hasn’t wrapped his hands, and he’s not hitting the dummy safely. He’s whaling on it - punching it erratically without any real rhythm or proper form - and there are spots of blood along the padded surface. His knuckles are bleeding profusely, as are his feet. Between cutting his feet on the broken glass and running along the streets of Star City with no shoes, Felicity wonders how he’s still standing.

Oliver doesn’t notice either of them, too caught up in beating the dummy in front of him.

Felicity feels frozen in place, unsure of what to do. Oliver’s exercised with John a few times since they rescued him, but it was nothing like this. This is anger and guilt and self-loathing like she’s never seen from him before.

Oliver hits the dummy hard and fast, like he wants to destroy it, and it’s not until his feet waver slightly and his punches slow that Felicity realizes he’s saying something.

As he hits the dummy, Oliver is muttering the word “monster” over and over again.

“Oh, god,” Felicity whispers, and her feet move of their own accord.

She’s halfway across the padded floor when she finally gets her mouth to work. 

“Oliver, stop this,” she tells him, but he doesn’t hear her. He keeps hitting the dummy, his bruised knuckles leaving blood in their wake.

“Oliver, please stop. STOP!” she shouts, and she puts a hand on his shoulder.

Oliver jerks away from her like he’s been burned, letting out a wail that nearly breaks her heart in two. He stares at her, panting heavily from exertion and stress, and he lifts a trembling, bloody hand into the air and points at her neck. She reaches up involuntarily, stroking her fingers along the skin where she can already feel the bruises forming. She shakes her head, but Oliver closes his eyes, puts his hands to his forehead, and moans.

“ _ Felicityyy.” _

Felicity shakes her head again, and she takes a few slow and careful steps toward him, putting her hand over her chest.    
  
“Oliver, it’s okay. I’m all right. You didn’t mean-”

“FELICITY!” he shouts at her, and she stops moving, watching helplessly as he opens his eyes and points a finger at his chest. “MONSTER!” Oliver screams, shoving the finger harder against himself. “Monster, monster, monster!”

He smacks himself harder with every utterance of that vile word, and the movement smears blood against his chest. The sight of it makes Felicity want to cry, but she knows she can’t do that.

She has to be strong. 

And so she closes her eyes and takes a long, deep breath, willing herself to calm down.

She can do this.

She’s done this countless times before.

She can be strong for him.

She  _ has _ to be strong, because Oliver needs her.

“Monster, Felicity! MONSTER!” Oliver screams, and Felicity opens her eyes in time to watch him turn back around and start hitting the dummy again.

“NO!” Felicity shouts. “Oliver, stop this. Please!”

Her voice breaks on the last word, and she thinks that’s what gets through to him, because he finally stops. He rests his hands against the dummy, taking a few deep, shuddering breaths.

When he finally turns around to look at her, he’s crying silently.

_ “Felicity…,”  _ he whines, and he points to her neck once more. Then he signs a few words.

_ I hurt you _ .

She shakes her head, and she takes a few steps closer to him. Thankfully, he doesn’t move away. She opens her mouth to tell him she’s okay, but then he signs the words again.

_ I hurt you. _

Then he signs three more.

_ I deserve this. _

“Oh, Oliver,” Felicity gasps, and she reaches out a hand to touch him, but he pulls away this time.

He shakes his head.

He points to himself.

He lays his left hand out flat and pretends to scoop something out of it with his right.

Then he digs his right index finger into his palm.

_ I deserve this. _

“Oliver, don’t say that,” Felicity responds, trying to move closer to him again, but he’s not having it. He moves away from her, and when he signs the phrase for a third time, instead of pointing at his palm, he points to his bleeding knuckles.

_ I deserve this. _

Then he turns toward the dummy, signing the words again and pointing at the bloodstained padding.

_ I deserve this _ .

Then he turns back to her...and signs the words….

...and points at his left wrist.

_ I deserve this. _

The stitches were removed two weeks ago, leaving behind pale red scars, but Felicity can barely see them...because there are scratch marks all along the skin of his left wrist. When he flips his right hand over, there are scratch marks there, too.  Small rivulets of blood drip down his wrists, and while it doesn’t look too bad, it’s clear that he meant to hurt himself.

He hasn’t touched his wrists since she and John made him promise not to.

For four weeks, Oliver hasn’t clawed  at his bandages or pulled at his stitches or scratched at his itchy skin when the stitches came out.

Not once. 

Tears pool in the corners of her eyes, and when Felicity finally manages to tear her gaze away from Oliver’s wrists, she finds her own grief mirrored back at her in the eyes of the man she loves.

_ I deserve this _ , he signs one more time, pointing at his bleeding wrists.

The he whispers the word “monster” once more and starts scratching at his left wrist.

Unbidden, images flood Felicity’s mind in rapid and horrible succession.

An image of Oliver lying still on the floor of the bathroom. 

An image of Oliver shoving his face against her stomach as he bleeds out in her lap.

An image of him screaming for her in the hospital. 

An image of him lying dead on the floor of her apartment in a pool of his own blood.

She feels the floor shift under her feet.

She feels her chest tighten painfully.

….

……

…

She feels the tears fall.

Oliver scratches hard at his wrist, nails digging in so deep that he opens a new wound.

…

……

…

...and that’s when something in Felicity breaks.

“Oliver, STOP IT!” she wails. “Please, just  _ stop _ !” The last word is a scream and a sob all rolled into one, and her breath hitches in her chest as she puts a hand over her mouth.

Oliver stops, and he lets his hands fall to his sides as he looks down at her in confusion.

“Mons-”

“NO!” Felicity shouts. “No, no, no, I’m not going to let you do this! I’m not going to let you hurt yourself anymore. I’m not...I’m not gonna stand by and act like this isn’t….”

Felicity trails off, and she realizes that she’s crying freely now. Then she sobs, because she knows that she can’t undo this.

Oliver’s seen her break, and she can’t take it back.

So she doesn’t.

Instead, she lets it all go.

“You’re not a monster, Oliver. The man who did this to you,  _ he’s _ the monster! You-” She takes a step toward him, and before he can move away she puts her palm against his chest, right over his heart. “You are a  _ hero _ . You’ve done more for this city than anyone will ever know, but  _ I  _ know. I know how much good you’ve done, and I know the bad too, but I don’t  _ care. _ It doesn’t matter; none of it!”

She takes a step back so she can look up at him, and she would swear she sees a spark of something in his eyes, but she’s scared and upset and she couldn’t stop talking right now even if she wanted to.

“You are kind, and brave, and strong, and  _ a hero _ . You’re a hero, Oliver Queen, and you are the man I love more than anything on this earth, and  _ I can’t bear to see you like this _ .”

Her voice shatters, and she gasps for air as she fights against her tears, desperate to make him understand.

“Seeing you like this, it...it’s killing me, Oliver. Little by little it’s killing me, and I can’t….”

She shakes her head, and she can’t stop the words from pouring out of her.

“I’m so- I’m sorry, Oliver.  _ Oh, god _ , I’m sorry,” she cries. “You needed me to be strong, and I was, I was, but now, I….”

She’s sobbing now, but she can’t help it. Not anymore. It’s all too much.

“ _ I miss you. _ I love you so much and I miss you and…Oliver, I-”

_ “Don’t cry.” _

Felicity gasps, and her heart seizes in her chest, because Oliver just-

“Wh...what?” she gasps, and she stares up at him, holding her breath. She feels like she’s standing on a precipice, and all it’ll take to push her over the edge is-

“Don’t…don’t cry, Felicity,” Oliver says again.

“You...y...Oliver?” she asks, hardly daring to believe her ears.

She wipes at her eyes, and she realizes that Oliver’s crying, too, but they’re silent tears: born of the effort it’s taking him to speak for the first time in almost half a year; to find the words he needs to comfort her.

Her tears fall harder, and she buries her head in her hands and moans.

_ “Fe-LI-ci-ty,”  _ Oliver whispers, and the sound of her name being said like that - Oliver’s special  _ I love you _ \- helps her find the strength to look back at him when all she wants to do is collapse in on herself from exhaustion and pain and sheer, soul crushing  _ relief _ , because  _ Oliver is talking again. _

Felicity vaguely hears John mutter a curse behind her, but she only has eyes for one man.

The man she’s spent five months caring for.

The same man who’s now standing in front of her with open arms and saying-

“Don’t cry.”

She doesn’t think twice.

Felicity throws herself into Oliver’s waiting arms, pressing her face against his soft, warm skin. When he wraps his arms around her and pulls her in tight, she sobs against his chest. Then he starts to stroke her hair, and she cries harder. She moves her head along his chest until her cheek is pressed against the skin over his heart. She hears it beating hard and fast underneath her, and she feels her own heart fill with hope.

And for the first time in forever she lets herself go….

...and Oliver keeps her whole.

“Don’t cry. Don’t cry. _ Fe-LI-ci-ty, _ ” Oliver mumbles into her hair, and she moans against him.

“I love you, too,” she gasps. “I lo... _ Oliver. _ Oh, god,  _ Oliver _ ….”

“Don’t cry, Felicity. Don’t cry,” he says again, pressing a kiss against the top of her head.

And she cries.

_...tbc… _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really really REALLY hope you guys liked this. That scene in the bunker was actually one of the very first scenes I imagined for this story, so this has been A LONG time coming.
> 
> We’re nearing the end now. A million thanks to everyone who’s stayed with me for so long despite the glacial pace at which I post. You’re all fantastic. <3


	15. Coming Home to Myself

**< \--Chapter Fourteen: Coming Home to Myself--> **

Slowly but surely, Oliver begins to come back to himself.

Slowly but surely, Oliver begins to heal.

To Felicity, it feels like he’s healing all over again - like they’re reliving all those months before he tried to take his own life - but with one major difference.

This time, Oliver’s talking.

He talks to her, and to John, and to Thea and Donna and Quentin.

He doesn’t talk a lot at first. Just simple words like “please” and “thank you” and “yes” or “no,” but after a few days he starts saying more and more, including small sentences.

“Oliver, do you want me to read to you before we go to sleep?”

“I’d like that.”

“Oliver, what do you want from the cafe on the corner?”

“Hot chocolate.”

“Do you want to come with me?”

“I...I don’t know. Maybe….”

“Tomorrow?”

“...yes. Maybe tomorrow.”

Oliver continues to sign as he grows used to speaking again, and as the days turn to weeks, he speaks more and more.

Oliver also begins to spend time with his loved ones again, and he goes back to doing all the things he used to enjoy doing with them.

He watches soaps with Donna. 

He watches movies with his sister, and they even start to play card games together (something they haven’t done since Thea was a kid).

He begins to work out with John again, starting off with simple exercises: walks up and down the stairs, situps and pushups, even a bit of yoga (Felicity has never seen either of them do it before but it really seems to help Oliver relax, especially on the bad days). The exercising helps him a lot. The endorphins released improve his mood greatly, and combined with a steady diet and his continued use of medication, Oliver grows healthier and stronger every day.

Oliver still likes it when Felicity reads to him every night, and she continues to do so.

Oliver also continues to see his therapist. He only uses sign language with her to start, but as he begins to talk more and more with Felicity and the rest of his family, he also begins to talk more with Dr. Martinez. In time, the therapy begins to help him more than Felicity ever dared to hope it could.

Oliver even takes up his drawing again. Now it seems to help him the way it did in the beginning - and maybe even more - because sometimes he’s actually willing to talk to her about what he’s drawn. He draws both Good and Bad things, but the Bad drawings don’t seem to make him break down like they used to. Eventually, the Good drawings outweigh the Bad once more, and they move on to covering a third wall of the loft.

In time, Oliver also begins to go outside again. He starts off small, taking occasional, short trips with the people he loves. A trip to the cafe on the corner for hot chocolate with his sister. A walk in the park with Felicity and Mrs. Huff’s dog, or a jog in the park with John. He even goes grocery shopping with Donna to find ingredients for new cookie recipes, which he helps her bake (he still won’t cook on his own, but every once in awhile he likes to help John make dinner).

It’s a long, hard journey, but Felicity is patient with Oliver every step of the way.

Love and support from his family, calming and familiar activities, and healthy habits all help Oliver heal.

Day by day, slowly but steadily, Oliver begins to open up. He becomes more talkative, starts to smile more, and even begins to make jokes again.

Oliver still has Bad Days, of course.

He still suffers the occasional panic attack, and there are days when he refuses to speak at all, choosing to “use his words” through sign language instead.

Nightmares still plague him almost every night. There are nights when he wakes up screaming for her. Nights that end with her taking him into the tub to soothe his aching muscles. Nights when she has a hard time getting him back to sleep, and nights when she ends up singing to him.

But as the days turn into weeks, and the weeks into a month, Oliver’s Bad Days become fewer and farther between. Talking him down from his panic attacks becomes easier, and sometimes she can stop them before they even start. It becomes easier for her to wake him from his nightmares, and easier to help him back to sleep once he’s calmed down.

* * *

 

One night, about a month after he’s started talking again, Felicity asks him if he might be willing to tell her about what happened to him during his time with Prometheus. 

“Felicity, I….” He pauses, unsure, and Felicity feels her heart sink in her chest.

Finally, he responds with a shake of his head and a sign. 

_ I’m not ready to talk about it. _

“That’s okay,” Felicity assures him. “That’s okay, honey. I understand.”

Oliver nods gratefully….

...and then he does something that surprises her.

“Felicity...will you...will you buy me a journal?” he asks.

“A journal?”

Oliver nods.

_ So I can write it down instead. _

Felicity’s heart soars, and she’s so excited by the idea of Oliver writing down his thoughts that she goes out the next morning and buys him not one journal, but five.

And Oliver fills them almost as fast as he used to fill his drawing pads.

* * *

 

As Oliver begins to write more and more, he begins to draw less. The writing seems to help him as much as the drawing ever did, and while he doesn’t share what he’s written with her, he promises he will someday; when he’s ready. For now, Felicity’s more than willing to let him keep his thoughts private.

Oliver writes about anything and everything. He writes about his thoughts and feelings as he slowly heals. He writes about the five months that Felicity took care of him. He also writes about his torture.

What he can remember, at least.

During one of his sessions with Dr. Martinez - a couple weeks after he’s started writing his thoughts down in a journal - Oliver admits something to his therapist that he hasn’t even admitted to Felicity yet.

_ The drugs Prometheus gave me...I think he was testing them on me. _

Felicity gasps, and Dr. Martinez nods in understanding.

“I think you might be right,” the therapist tells him. “My best guess is the drugs were something he - or someone else - designed for the purpose of torture.”

Oliver nods, smiling grimly at her.

_ I can’t remember everything, _ Oliver signs.  _ Only pieces here and there. The whole thing is still a blur, but…. _

He pauses, putting his hands in his lap.

Then he speaks. 

“I’m writing it down. Whatever I can remember. It’s not a lot, but….”

Oliver sighs, wringing his hands together nervously in his lap. When his body starts to shake ever so slightly, Felicity reaches down and grabs his right hand with her left, squeezing it tightly.

“It’s okay, hon. No one expects you to remember everything,” Felicity assures him.

“Of course not,” Dr. Martinez agrees. “Oliver, you’ve been through a trauma no one can begin to understand. It makes sense that you don’t remember everything. Perhaps this is even some form of psychological self-defense.” 

“Like his brain has put up walls against the memories in order to protect itself?” Felicity conjectures.

“Exactly,” Dr. Martinez agrees. “Maybe the memories will come back, and maybe they won’t. Only time will tell. For now, we can only focus on the things we know.”

_ Yes, _ Oliver responds with a nod. He takes his hand away from Felicity’s and signs.  _ Yes. Writing things helps. And...and talking to you,  _ he continues, pointing at Dr. Martinez.  _ And…. _

He trails off, then turns to Felicity and smiles at her.

_ “FeLIcity,”  _ he says simply, and she understands - as always - that it’s so much more than her name. 

“You’re welcome,” she responds, leaning over and kissing him gently on the cheek. “Always.”

* * *

 

After that session, Oliver and Felicity agree that it’s best to not go poking at the walls in Oliver’s mind. Oliver will continue writing down the things he  _ does  _ remember, and if the memories come back to him, then so be it.

And in time, they do.

The memories come to Oliver in his dreams.

Oliver writes them down more often than not - whenever he’s feeling up to it. He fills pages and pages in his journal with memories of those two months of torture. He’s still not ready to share them with Felicity, but she tells him it doesn’t matter. She sits next to him, resting a comforting hand on his knee as he writes, or lets him rest his head in her lap as his pen flies across the page.

Oliver is strong, and he faces the painful memories head on as often as he can.

But some nights he can’t write.

Some nights it’s just too much.

Some nights he wakes in a cold sweat, screaming her name.

Some nights he asks Felicity to hold him, and he cries in her arms until he falls asleep again.

Some nights she soothes him back to sleep with a song, or a story, or a nice hot bath.

Some nights, Oliver breaks….

...but Felicity never lets him feel ashamed.

She never lets him think he’s weak for breaking down, because he’s not.

Instead she holds him close, kisses the scars on his wrists, and reminds him that he’s still here.

She reminds him that despite everything he’s been through, he’s still fighting.

Felicity reminds him that he’s strong.

* * *

 

One day in late August, Oliver becomes eerily silent.

He doesn’t sign or talk.

He doesn’t show interest in reading with her or watching TV or playing cards.

When Felicity asks him if he wants to go for a walk, he doesn’t answer her.

When she asks him if he’s okay, he sighs deeply but doesn’t acknowledge her.

When she leads him to the kitchen table to eat lunch, he sits and stares at his food, unwilling to eat it. She doesn’t want to force him, and so she takes the food away and puts his art pad and his colored pencils in front of him, hoping she might get him to draw what he’s thinking.

It doesn’t work.

Oliver sits quietly and stares off into space, lost deep in his own thoughts; where Felicity can’t reach him.

Around midday, Felicity gives up, attempting to convince herself that it’s fine. Oliver’s just having one of his quiet, reflective days. It’s no big deal.

But every once in awhile, Felicity catches him stroking at the scars on his left wrist when he thinks she isn’t looking, and she worries despite herself.

As the sun starts to set, Felicity calls John and asks him to bring over some Big Belly Burger, hoping that Oliver’s favorite comfort food might snap him out of it.

But it doesn’t.

Oliver stares quietly at the food until it goes cold.

Finally, Felicity can’t take it anymore.

She leans over the table and grabs his hands between hers, squeezing them tightly.

“Oliver, you’re scaring me,” she admits, her voice trembling slightly.

And finally, he snaps out of it.

Oliver looks up at her, and she can see him for the first time that day. She lets out a sigh of relief as Oliver stands, then moves around the table. She turns in her seat, her hands shaking in her lap as Oliver leans down and kisses her forehead.

Felicity gasps, unable to stop her tears, and when he kneels on the floor in front of her she throws her arms around him and buries her face against his neck, hugging him fiercely.

“ _ Fe-LI-ci-ty,”  _ Oliver whispers, his voice hoarse from not being used all day, and he places a gentle kiss against the side of her head.

“I love you, too,” she sobs, hugging him tighter.

“I’m sorry, Felicity. I didn’t mean….”

He pauses, and his arms tense around her. Sensing his discomfort, Felicity pulls away from him, but not before kissing his cheek.

_ What’s wrong?  _ she asks him in sign language.

Oliver sighs, long and deep, before answering her.

_ I didn’t mean to worry you. I...I’ve been thinking. _

“That’s never good,” Felicity laughs shakily.

Oliver smiles softly at her, then reaches up with his right hand and wipes away her tears with his fingertips.

Felicity smiles. Then she carefully grabs his wrist and pulls his hand away. She kisses his fingertips, then his knuckles, and then the back of his hand. Finally, she turns his hand over and kisses the scars along the inside of his wrist.

“It’s okay, Oliver,” Felicity assures him, whispering the words against his skin. “You’re okay.”

Then she moves his hand to her chest, placing his palm over her heart. 

“I’m okay,” she tells him.

Then she places her free hand over  _ his  _ heart. 

“ _ We’re _ okay.”

They sit quietly, content to feel each other’s heartbeats, until finally, Oliver moves his hand away from her and signs something.

_ I need to tell you something...but I’m not sure how. _

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, honey,” Felicity assures him. “It’s okay.” 

Oliver shakes his head.

“No,” he says out loud. “No, I _ want  _ to. I just….” He takes a long, deep breath, then signs the rest.  _ I don’t know HOW. _

“Oh,” Felicity responds, suddenly understanding. “You don’t know if you can say it out loud.”

Oliver nods, rubbing his fingers together nervously, like he usually does when there’s something he wants to say but he doesn’t know how to sign it.

Felicity looks over at the table, where Oliver’s art pads still sit, untouched from before. She opens her mouth to suggest drawing….

...but at the last second, she thinks of something else. 

“How about you write it down?” she suggests, pointing over at the coffee table, where Oliver’s most recent journal is sitting.

Oliver’s eyes widen...and then he smiles at her.

“Yes,” he answers, his voice still hoarse. “Yes. I’d like that.”

And so Felicity grabs Oliver’s journal and pen from the living room. Then she returns to the dining room and puts them on the table in front of Oliver’s seat. Oliver moves back to his chair and sits down, picking up the pen and opening the journal to a blank page. He stares at it for a few seconds, then puts his pen down. 

_ I need some time, _ he signs, and Felicity understands right away what he’s asking her for.

“I’m gonna go take a walk,” she tells him. “If you promise to eat some of your dinner, I’ll bring back some hot chocolate. Deal?”

Oliver smiles, agreeing with a nod of his head.

And so Felicity goes for a long walk.

An hour later, she returns with hot chocolate and cookies from the cafe on the corner. She finds Oliver writing furiously, a half eaten plate of burger and fries next to him. Satisfied, she places the hot chocolate and cookies next to him before grabbing her tablet and heading upstairs. 

She lies on the bed in the guest room and attempts to read, but she finds it hard to concentrate.

At some point, she must fall asleep, because she wakes to a gentle shaking of her shoulder and Oliver calling her name softly.

“Felicity?”

“Hmmm?” Felicity mutters, opening her eyes to find Oliver sitting next to her, his journal clutched tightly in his hands. 

“Here,” Oliver says, holding it out to her.

Wide awake now, Felicity sits up, leaning back against the headboard.

“Are you sure, honey? Because if you’re not ready-”

_ “Please,”  _ Oliver whispers, pushing it into her right hand and letting go. 

_ Please read it, _ Oliver signs.  _ I don’t know if it will make sense, but...I wanted to try. _

Felicity smiles at him, more than willing to read anything and everything that Oliver wants to share with her.

“Okay,” she agrees.

And Felicity settles back against the headboard and reads what Oliver has written her.

* * *

 

_ I remember everything that’s happened since you rescued me, Felicity. _

_ I remember Dr. Schwartz looking after me when I didn’t want to go to the hospital. I remember the bath you gave me that first night, and how you helped me use the bathroom. I remember John helping me walk, and the first time Donna made me cookies, and the day I hugged Thea in the hospital. _

_ I remember the nights you sang to me. _

_ The mornings you comforted me. _

_ I remember the days you read to me, and the days we spent drawing together. _

_ I remember everything you did to take care of me. _

_ And yet...it’s weird...because even though I remember things, the memories are still fuzzy; like I’m looking at them through a distorted lens. _

_ Because I also remember being someone else. _

_ Or at least…. _

_ This is all so hard to explain, Felicity, but I want to at least TRY. _

_ I didn’t feel like myself...but at the same time, I didn’t even know who “myself” really was. _

_ And that’s what I realized today: that when Prometheus broke me, I lost that connection to myself; to Oliver Queen. _

_ I could remember what had happened to me before I was taken from you, and some of what had happened while I was being tortured, but those were just THINGS. _

_ I couldn’t really remember ME. _

_ I didn’t feel like Oliver Queen.  _

_ I didn’t feel like anyone. _

_ All I knew were my own emotions. _

_ Anxiety. _

_ Worthlessness. _

_ Helplessness. _

_ Sadness so heavy I thought I might drown in it. _

_ And the FEAR. _

_ God, Felicity, the FEAR. I can’t even begin to put it into words. _

_ Every day was a constant struggle. _

_ To keep moving. _

_ To keep breathing. _

_ To keep living. _

_ To keep going when sometimes all I wanted to do was go to sleep and never wake up again. _

_ And yet…. _

_...that wasn’t all of it. _

_ Because I also had YOU. _

_ You made me feel happy, and warm, and safe. _

_ You made me feel loved. _

_ YOU were the one who kept me going, Felicity. _

_ You were the one who kept me alive.  _

_ Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally and in every way that really matters. _

_ You were the one who kept me on the right path. _

_ Because deep down I knew I was looking for something that was missing. I didn’t realize what it was at the time, but looking back now I know that what I was missing was ME: the man I used to be. _

_ Most of the time I felt lost, like I was wandering around in my own head trying to find something; something I couldn’t quite picture or understand, but something I knew was important. _

_But there were also times I felt_ _FOUND._

_...and that’s when you were there. _

_ Whenever I became too lost in my own head I looked for you, and you helped me find the path again. _

_ The night I hurt you - the night you finally cried in front of me - it was like I’d finally found the end of the path. It was like I could finally see the locked door keeping me from the thing I was looking for, and you were the key to opening it. _

_I wanted to help you so badly; my heart physically_ _ACHED from the need of it. I would’ve done anything to save you, the way you’d saved me._

_ And so I fought against the anxiety and the fear and the pain, and I found the strength I needed to speak to you. _

_ And when I held you in my arms, I felt like ME for the first time in so long. _

_ You helped me find myself again, Felicity.  _

_ John helped, too. And Thea and Donna and Quentin. They all helped me. _

_ But you were the constant in all of it. _

_ Your touches. Your soothing words. Your comfort and your encouragement and your love. _

_ You were the key to everything. You helped me find myself again when no one else could. _

_ I don’t think I’ll ever really understand why your name was the only word I could say for so long. Some things just can’t be explained. _

_ All I can know for sure is that when Prometheus had me, YOU were what kept me going. The memory of your face, and your touch, and your voice…. _

_...and your name. _

_ Your name was like my lifeline. Even after you rescued me I clung to it; repeated it to myself over and over when I felt like I was drowning. _

_ I wrote your name in my heart, and I locked it up tight and buried it deep down where Prometheus could never touch it. _

_ Your name saved me, Felicity. _

_ YOU saved me. _

_ I don’t know if I can ever thank you enough. _

* * *

 

It’s just a few short pages, but it might as well be an entire novel, because it’s more words than Oliver’s said to her in months, and more than he’s communicated in a very long time.

Felicity can’t help herself.

When she’s done reading, she crawls into Oliver’s lap, wraps her arms around him, and buries her head against his neck. She breathes in deep, relishing the feel of him close and warm and alive.

When she starts to cry softly, Oliver hugs her back, pulling her in even closer.

“It’s okay,” Oliver soothes her, holding her tight. He rubs her lower back with one hand and uses the other to run his fingers through her hair. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I know,” Felicity gasps against him. “I know. Oliver, I...I love you so much.”

Oliver sighs, then bends down and gently kisses the top of her head.

_ “Fe-LI-ci-ty,”  _ he whispers against her hair.

And it doesn’t just mean “I love you” this time.

It means so much more.

* * *

 

As the weeks pass, Oliver grows more comfortable with talking. Simple sentences become longer and longer, until pretty soon he’s able to hold full conversations again. Every once in awhile, he falls back on his signing, but as time goes by he needs it less and less.

Oliver doesn’t stop signing all together, though. One day in September, as the two of them walk through the park to look at the Fall colors, Oliver explains to Felicity that he wants to keep practicing sign language because he doesn’t want to forget it.

“Actually...I’d like to learn  _ more  _ someday,” Oliver admits, rubbing his hands together. “Maybe take some classes.”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea, Oliver,” Felicity says. She reaches out, grabs one of his hands in hers, and squeezes it tight. “It’ll give you something to do now that….” 

She trails off, not wanting to finish the sentence.

In a couple months, Star City will be holding an election for a new mayor, and it’s clear that Oliver won’t be running again.

“It’s okay, Felicity. Really,” Oliver assures her, squeezing her hand in return. “I’m not...I’m not ready. I’m not sure I’ll ever be.”

“Oh, honey. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re healing, and that takes time. No one expects you to bounce back right away.”

“I know,” Oliver tells her. “But still, I...I’ve been thinking.”

“That’s-”

“-never a good thing, I know,” Oliver finishes for her, and Felicity’s heart soars to hear him laughing again. “I think I’d like to learn more sign language, so maybe someday I can...volunteer.”

“Volunteer?”

“Yes. Maybe at schools, or hospitals. Working with the deaf and hard of hearing, or...or maybe people who suffer from mutism, or PTSD. Or...or something. I don’t really know exactly but….”

Felicity beams up at him with pride. Then she stands on the tips of her toes and places a gentle kiss on his cheek.

“I think that’s a  _ great idea _ , Oliver. We’ll find you something to do.”

“When I’m ready,” Oliver says, turning to her and nodding carefully.

“Exactly. When you’re ready. In the meantime, do you want to look into ASL classes? I’m pretty sure the Star City library offers something.”

“Yes,” Oliver says, and when he smiles widely at her, his whole face lights up in a way that Felicity hasn’t seen in a very long time. “Yes. I’d like that very much.”

* * *

 

Eventually, Felicity returns to her job at Smoak Tech, where she finds that Curtis has done an amazing job keeping the place running without her.

“Just like I said I would,” Curtis tells her.

“Just like I  _ knew _ you would,” Felicity assures him, giving him a tight hug.

She starts off with just a few hours every other day, but as Oliver grows increasingly comfortable with her absence, she heads into the office more and more. About three months after that fateful night in the bunker, Felicity finds herself going to work nearly every day, and her company continues to thrive.

Meanwhile, Oliver spends his time quietly but productively. He continues to draw and write, referring to it as “his therapy.” He also reads, watches movies, and spends time deep cleaning the loft (“earning his keep,” as he calls it).

Eventually, Oliver decides that he wants to make a serious start on a new workout regimen. He assuages Felicity’s fears about him overexerting himself by promising to start small.

“It’s just… I really want to get back into shape again,” Oliver explains to her one night as he looks at himself in the full length mirror Felicity has reinstalled on the closet door. He frowns, patting the soft swell of his stomach, and Felicity shakes her head and sighs.

“Oliver….”

She moves in close to him, images flashing through her mind of how thin and frail he looked eight months ago when she brought him home. A shiver runs through her, and she wraps her arms around him from the side and leans against him, desperate to feel his body warm and alive against hers. Then she stands on the tips of her toes and kisses his cheek.

“You’ll always be beautiful to me,” she whispers, and when Oliver blushes, Felicity giggles and kisses him again.

Oliver sighs under her touch, and he twists in her arms, turning to look at her.

“Felicity…I….” He pauses, and Felicity looks up at him curiously. She can practically feel his heart rate pick up, and she wraps her arms tighter around his back and moves in until every inch of her body is pressed up against his.

Oliver looks at her long and hard, and there’s something in his eyes she hasn’t seen in a very long time.

Then he bends down and presses his lips to hers.

The kiss is soft and short, but intense nonetheless, because it’s been so long and they’ve both been through so much. Felicity gasps against his mouth, yearning for more, but when he pulls away she doesn’t let her disappointment show. 

Oliver closes his eyes and moans quietly, shaking his head. 

“It’s okay,” Felicity whispers. “It’s okay, baby.”

Oliver whimpers, and he puts his hands on her shoulders, resting his forehead against hers. She can feel his body trembling in her arms. 

“Felicity, I...I shouldn’t have...I’m not ready,” Oliver gasps, and Felicity can feel that he’s starting to panic. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey,” she soothes him, and she ghosts her lips against his before putting her hands on his shoulders and gently pushing him away. “It’s okay, Oliver. It’s fine. We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”   
  
“I know, I know, I just….” Oliver shakes his head, and his eyes fill with tears. “You’ve done so much for me, Felicity, and I want...I want to show you how much you mean to me. How much I love you.”

“I know, honey. I know. It’s okay,” Felicity assures him. She pushes her body up along his again, resting her head under his chin, and she can hear his heart beating underneath her. “But we don’t need to rush anything. I’ll wait as long as you need me to. I promise. Breathe with me, Oliver.”

And he does.

She calms his racing heart and his quick breathing and his shaking body.

As they lie in bed later that night, slowly drifting off to sleep, Oliver kisses the top of her head.

“Felicity...I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

Felicity smiles against his chest, placing her own kiss over his heart.

“Lucky for you, we’ll never have to find out. I think you’re stuck with me, Oliver Queen.”

_ “FeLIcity,”  _ Oliver sighs happily.

Felicity snuggles closer to him and closes her eyes.

“You never have to thank me,” she tells him.

* * *

 

Oliver’s true to his word. He starts with a simple workout routine: using the mats, weights, and punching bag already set up in the loft. Two weeks into his new workout schedule, Oliver and John take up sparring again, and a few days later John gifts Oliver with a used treadmill he was able to get for a good bargain.

“For whenever you get tired of running up and down these stairs,” John jokes, though they all understand that it’s really for those days when Oliver just doesn’t quite feel up to going outside.

But in time, those days become fewer and farther between. Eventually, Oliver begins to go out not every few days but almost  _ every day _ , and - more often than not - by himself. Sometimes he goes for a solitary run in the park, or takes Mrs. Huff’s dog for a walk, or stops by the cafe to pick up muffins and coffee for Felicity. He goes grocery shopping by himself now, and he even starts cooking again, making meals that Felicity can take into work. He also continues to bake, and pretty soon he’s trying out a new cookie recipe almost every day.

When Felicity complains that she’s going to get fat from all the baking, Oliver just smiles at her and signs the words,  _ you’ll always be beautiful to me. _

When she presses her lips to his in a slow, gentle kiss, Oliver kisses her back, and when she pulls away he leans in for a second one.

* * *

 

About three months after Oliver starts talking again, Felicity finally decides to rejoin Team Arrow, who are feeling more hopeful than ever now that Oliver is slowly but surely recovering.

One night, Felicity comes home late after sitting on the comms with the team, and when she finds Oliver lying awake in bed reading a book, she asks him if he thinks he’ll want to put the hood on again.

He tells her that he  _ does _ want to be the Green Arrow again someday, but he’s not sure when he’ll be ready. Felicity assures him that there’s no rush, and she runs an idea by him that Diggle gave her earlier.

A few nights later, John puts on the Green Arrow suit. His hope (and the team’s hope as well) is that putting the Green Arrow back on the streets will put fear back in the bad guy’s hearts...and may just be enough to draw Prometheus out into the open again.

And eventually….

...it works.

One night, the team overhears a gang of drug dealers talking about Prometheus. He’s planning something - something  _ big _ \- but the gang doesn’t go into more detail, and the team busts up their deal before they can find out more.

But it’s okay, because now that Prometheus is back on the board, they have another chance to find him and bring him to justice.

And then the unthinkable happens.

…

……

...

Team Arrow gets a lucky break.

* * *

 

Their lucky break comes in the form of a man, who arrives late one October night in the old campaign office above the bunker, asking for the Green Arrow.

“I know someone’s here,” the stranger says, walking through the empty, trash strewn rooms. “I’m sure I’ve tripped your alarm, and you’re watching me on your cameras right now. Perhaps you’ve even ID’ed me already. I’m not here to harm anyone. I just want to talk.”

John looks over at Felicity, who’s sitting behind her computer bank watching the man wander the floor above them. She’s already run facial recognition, and the man’s name and information are displayed on one of the monitors.

“Ivan Wilcox. Does that name ring any bells?” Diggle asks her.

Felicity shakes her head. “None. It says here he used to work in IT at Wayne Enterprises, but he quit his job about a year ago. Squeaky clean, not so much as an unpaid parking ticket. He lost his wife and daughter three years ago when that nutjob blew up the Gotham City Mall and killed twenty people. I have no idea what would bring him here, but-”

“I have information you want,” Ivan continues. Then he stops walking and reaches into his coat pocket, pulling out a small tablet. He taps at it a few times, then turns toward one of the cameras and holds it up. “It concerns Prometheus.”

Felicity, John, and the rest of the team gathered around her gasp as one.

The video playing on the tablet shows a man hanging from a beam in a factory, screaming in pain as another man pokes him with an electric cattle prod. And standing next to him, watching silently, is Prometheus.

“I want to help you stop him.”

_...tbc... _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost at the end, guys! After this there's only one more chapter and an epilogue, which I'll be posting at the same time. 
> 
> A million thanks, as always, to those of you who've stuck with me for so long. I love my readers, and I'm so glad people have enjoyed crying over this story as much as I have. 
> 
> Also, please know that while I haven't been able to find the time to reply to your comments, I read and appreciate each and every one I get. <3 Thank you!


	16. Coming Home to You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went way back to "chapter one" and edited the first paragraph to emphasize that Prometheus and his men got away when Team Arrow went to rescue Oliver. There are small things in this chapter that won't make sense unless it's understood that Prometheus and his team were all able to escape. I'm posting the edited paragraph here for clarification:
> 
> "As John drives them toward the nearest hospital, Felicity uses the comm link to get an update from the rest of the team. Lyla assures Felicity that everyone is okay – a bit banged up, but nothing a few days’ rest won’t heal. Then Lyla informs her that despite the element of surprise they assumed they had, Prometheus and his team were able to evade capture. Felicity's loath to hear it, but considering that they were able to save Oliver, she's more than willing to call this a win. After Lyla promises that she and Quentin will make sure everyone gets patched up and home safely, Felicity turns off her earpiece and looks over at Oliver."
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this penultimate chapter: the beginning of the end of this (very long) story! As always, you'll probably need tissues.

**< \--Chapter Fifteen: Coming Home to You--> **

 

In the end, Felicity and John agree that they should hear what the man has to say - but not without precaution.

 

They send Wild Dog upstairs to get him. After checking the man for weapons, Rene leads Ivan down to the bunker, his gun pressed to his back the entire time. 

 

Ivan goes quietly and without protest.

 

When they arrive downstairs, John greets them from under the hood of the Green Arrow suit while Felicity and the rest of the team wait off in the training area, watching from Felicity’s tablet. Rene takes a few steps back from the stranger, but he doesn't lower his gun. 

 

“Ivan Wilcox, do you know who I am?” John asks, his voice disguised by the modulator in Oliver’s suit.

 

“I know you’re not the Green Arrow,” Ivan answers. “Oliver Queen is the Green Arrow, and you’re merely standing in for him. Other than that, no. I don’t know who you are.”

 

John considers him silently for a moment, then decides to keep pressing.

 

“I understand you have information for me,” John says, choosing neither to confirm nor deny Ivan’s words, while realizing that his silence on the matter is probably confirmation enough.

 

“Yes, sir,” Ivan responds. “It concerns a man who calls himself ‘Prometheus.’ He’s the one who tortured your friend Oliver Queen, and countless others. I have information that can help you stop him.”

 

“Why should I trust you?” John asks him.

 

“You have no reason to,” Ivan admits. “Not yet, at least. But if you’ll listen to what I have to say I think you’ll find that we both want the same thing.”

 

“To stop Prometheus,” John growls, and Ivan nods.

 

“Yes.”

 

John watches the man carefully, like he’s waiting for something. 

 

Then he nods.

 

“I’ll hear you out, Ivan. But I have one condition.”

 

Five minutes later, Felicity sits behind her computers once more. Rene, Evelyn, Rory, and Curtis all stand behind her. 

 

Downstairs, John closes the door to the prison cell.

 

“I appreciate your compliance, Ivan,” John says, stepping away from the cell and crossing his arms over his chest.

 

“I understand your hesitance,” the man assures him. “If I were in your shoes I’d do the same.”

 

John nods. “Start talking, Mr. Wilcox. The rest of my team is listening. After we’ve heard what you have to say, we’ll decide where to go next.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Ivan agrees. Then he looks down at his tablet, still clutched tightly in his hands. He takes a long, deep breath, and when he looks back up at John, his calm demeanor finally breaks. “The first thing you need to know is that Prometheus isn’t just a man. He’s a monster.”

 

And so, with trembling voice and fear in his eyes, Ivan Wilcox tells them everything he knows about the monster called Prometheus.

 

* * *

 

 

_ I’m very good with computers. A genius, you might say. A few months ago, I was contacted by a man who called himself Prometheus. He told me he had information on the person responsible for the mall bombing that took my wife and my little girl from me. I didn’t believe him at first, but he had footage from the bombing I’d never seen before, and with it he’d been able to ID the man who killed my family.  _

 

_ When Prometheus told me he planned on going after him, I wished him luck. But Prometheus didn’t just want to find the man responsible. Prometheus wanted to make him suffer...and he wanted me to help him. _

 

_ I was...I was hurting. The man had taken my whole world from me, and when Prometheus offered me the opportunity to get justice for my family, I couldn’t pass it up. I agreed to join him, along with ten other men and women who had lost someone just as I had. _

 

_ A week later, Prometheus gathered all of us together in an old abandoned factory. He’d finally located the man responsible for our loved ones deaths, and it was time for all of us to get our revenge. _

 

_ I never tortured him myself. My expertise is with computers, so it was my job to gather video evidence of his crimes and compile it into a short video that Prometheus would use to torture him. Turns out the man was responsible for more than just the mall bombing. Prometheus had countless resources at his disposal, and with them I was able to uncover a dozen other crimes the man had committed. I gathered all the video footage I could find, feeling more and more sick the more I uncovered. The man who killed my family...he was a monster. _

 

_ I watched Prometheus and the others torture him for weeks. That man deserved everything they put him through. _

 

_ At least...that was what I thought at first. But as weeks turned into months I began to doubt. The more I watched them torture him - the more he screamed and cried and begged them for mercy - the worse I felt. I started having nightmares, and more often than not they...they were about my wife and my daughter. _

 

_ My wife Becky...she was a gentle soul in life, and in my dreams she...she questioned what I was doing. She was disappointed in me, and worried. She was worried that the revenge I had wanted so badly was costing me my soul. I know they were just dreams, but...I couldn’t help thinking that was how she would feel if she were still alive, you know? _

 

_ And my little girl…. _

 

_ One night she told me I wasn’t really her daddy. She didn’t recognize me anymore…. _

 

_...and that’s when I realized that I didn’t even recognize myself. _

 

_ I knew I had to get out. _

 

_ Except I’d seen enough of Prometheus to know that he would never let me leave until the mission was complete. _

 

_ He wouldn’t let any of us leave until we’d broken our victim completely. _

 

_ I don’t know what he would’ve done if I’d asked him to let me leave, but I knew it wouldn’t end well. So I spent two more weeks in that old factory, doing what Prometheus ordered me to do. And then one night in my dreams, Becky asked me what I really knew about Prometheus...and it got me thinking. _

 

_ The next day I waited until Prometheus was deep into a torture session with our hostage, and I searched every inch of Prometheus’ computer system. I managed to find traces of erased video files, and I knew I had to find out what was in them. So I did what I do best: I dug deep into his system, and eventually I was able to restore the files. _

 

_ And what I saw was…. _

 

_...it was horrifying. _

 

_ I watched Prometheus lock twelve men and women in a room and gas them to death. _

 

_ They were all dressed the same: in the clothing of his followers. _

 

_ After I calmed down, I did a bit more digging, and I found a deleted folder on his last victim: Oliver Queen. In it was video footage of his torture and a list of what Prometheus considered to be his “crimes.” I also found the names of twelve men and women who had helped him. _

 

_ The same twelve men and women I had just watched Prometheus kill. _

 

_ I was able to find folders on three more of his previous victims before I was forced to stop. _

 

_ It didn’t take me long to put all the pieces together. _

 

_ Prometheus had been systematically going after people who’d done wrong. He would compile a list of their crimes, hunt them down, and then gather followers to help him torture them. He recruited people he knew would follow him: people who’d been personally affected by his victim’s crimes. Then they would torture their victim until he or she died from either the physical or psychological stress. After that he would erase all the evidence and then...and then kill the witnesses, before starting all over again. _

 

_ That night, as I lie in bed unable to sleep, I knew I had to find a way to get out. I wanted no more part of Prometheus’ schemes. And it wasn’t just because I didn’t want to die. It was also because I knew he needed to be stopped. _

 

_ Prometheus was playing Judge, Jury, and Executioner. It was the same thing he’d accused his victims of doing, including your friend Oliver Queen. The man was a hypocrite, and a liar, and a murderer. He was a sadistic monster - no better than the men and women he tortured...and in some ways even worse. He considered himself an Avenging Angel: going after people who he felt deserved punishment, not caring that he was as bad as they were. He took advantage of his follower’s grief - luring them in with false promises of justice and revenge against the people who’d wronged them. _

 

_ I couldn’t be like the rest of his followers anymore. I needed to do something. _

 

_ I needed to get away. _

 

_ I needed to stop him. _

 

_ I don’t think Prometheus ever expected someone to find out what he was doing. He’s very smart, but much like his namesake, his hubris would be his undoing. I don’t think he ever bothered to clear his system out between victims because he never dreamed someone would go against him; never dreamed that any of us wouldn’t be as hellbent on revenge as he was. The day I left the factory, I realized that he’d never even bothered to really lock down the place down. A simple command on the computer was enough to grant me my freedom. _

 

_ Before I left, I loaded everything I could onto this flash drive. There are dozens of videos and files on here: everything I would need to prove that Prometheus is a monster. _

 

_ It didn’t take me long to find your hideout after my escape; I had the location from one of Prometheus’ old files. I knew that Oliver Queen was bad off from his ordeal - it’s all over the news - but I’d also heard rumors that the Green Arrow was back in action, so I knew I’d find someone here working in his stead. _

 

_ I know that you and your team have no reason to trust me, but I think the information on this drive will prove to you that everything I have said is true. I will tell you where you can find Prometheus, and I won’t ask you for anything in return. I just want him to be stopped, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make that happen. I don’t have anything left at this point. Not really. If you can’t stop him, I’m a dead man anyway. _

* * *

 

When Ivan has finished telling them his story, Felicity, John, and the rest of the team sit quietly and take it all in. 

 

After a minute of silence, Felicity whispers into John’s comm link.

 

“I believe him, John. But we should still check what’s on that flash drive.”

 

And so John thanks Ivan for his intel, then asks him for the drive. He tells Ivan that he and his team will look over the information and discuss what they should do. Meanwhile, Ivan will stay in the cell until they can ascertain his trustworthiness. Ivan agrees that this sounds fair, and he asks only for some water and a bit of food, as it’s been nearly 24 hours since he’s eaten.

 

John agrees, and after bringing Ivan some food and water from their kitchen, Diggle takes the drive from him and meets the team back up at Felicity’s computer station. 

 

And together, the team finally finds out about the man who abused and tortured the Green Arrow.

 

* * *

 

They look over everything Ivan has given them. They search files and watch videos until Felicity starts to feel sick. When Rene points to a video folder entitled “Oliver Queen Drug Tests” Felicity tears the drive out of the port.

 

“I can’t look at anymore of this. I can’t-”

 

She hurries away, and she makes it to the bathroom just in time.

 

When she’s done throwing up, she feels a strong hand rubbing gently at her back.

 

“We need to discuss this with Oliver,” John tells her, and Felicity sighs.

 

“I know,” she whispers. “I know.”

 

* * *

 

Before contacting Oliver, the entire team comes to a consensus: they want to use Ivan’s intel to go after Prometheus. But even though Diggle is now the leader of Team Arrow, he knows they can’t move forward without getting Oliver’s opinion.

 

And so Felicity returns home, picks up Oliver, and brings him back to the bunker for the first time in almost a year.

 

Felicity lets John tell Oliver everything they’ve found out. She holds his hand the entire time, rubbing his back soothingly when he starts to tense up. By the time John’s finished talking Oliver looks ready to run.

 

But he doesn’t.

 

Instead, Oliver asks to be left alone.

 

Felicity is loath to leave him, but she does as he asks. She and the rest of the team head off to the kitchen, but everyone’s too on edge to eat or even talk.

 

Twenty minutes later, Oliver joins them.

 

“Oliver, honey? Are you okay?” Felicity asks him gently. She reaches out and grabs his hands, squeezing them tightly, and Oliver squeezes back.

 

Then he looks down at her and nods.

 

“We need to stop him,” Oliver says.

 

* * *

After much discussion, Oliver heads down to the cell to talk to Ivan. He tells him that the team has agreed to use Ivan’s information to go after Prometheus. He tells him that they’re grateful for his help, and they’re willing to harbor him while they go after Prometheus, just in case the man grows wise. Ivan takes Oliver up on the offer, and after handing over his tablet - which contains a detailed map of the factory where Prometheus and his followers are torturing their current victim - Oliver lets Ivan out of the cell and shows him where he can take a shower and sleep.

 

The team spends a few hours going over Ivan’s intel and creating a plan of attack.

 

And then the following night, with the help of an ARGUS task force provided by Lyla, Team Arrow finally gets their revenge.

 

* * *

Despite how badly Oliver wants to catch Prometheus, he’s far from ready to go back into the field. And so John goes as the Green Arrow in his stead - along with Speedy, Arsenal, Mr. Terrific, Wild Dog, Artemis, and Ragman - while Oliver and Felicity stay behind in the lair, both of them on the comms.

 

Prometheus never sees them coming. It turns out he’d never even noticed Ivan’s absence, too caught up in a drawn out torture session with his latest victim.

 

Prometheus and his men are also wildly outnumbered.

 

It’s not long before Team Arrow and ARGUS take down the entire operation….

 

...and in the end, Diggle finally gets to face down the man who tortured his best friend and brother.

 

Prometheus is a good fighter, but John - fueled by anger and rage - quickly gains the upper hand. He pulls off Prometheus’ mask, revealing a man that neither she nor Oliver recognize. Felicity does a quick facial recognition scan, which turns up a name they also don’t recognize.

 

She doesn’t bother digging any deeper. The only thing she needs to know about this man is that he’s a monster, and he’s about to get what’s long been coming to him.

 

John punches him hard in the face. Once, twice, three times. On the fourth time, Felicity hears the crack of his jaw breaking, and she squeezes Oliver’s hand, which is clutched tightly in hers.

 

The man doesn’t shout out in pain. Instead he just laughs maniacally, and the sound of it makes Felicity shudder.

 

Then John puts a gun to the man’s forehead, and Prometheus grows quiet.

 

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t pull the trigger you son of a bitch!” Diggle shouts at him, shoving the barrel hard against the man’s head.

 

“John, DON’T!” a voice shouts into the comm link.

 

It’s Oliver….

 

...and that’s enough to give John pause.

 

“After everything he’s done to you, he deserves it!” John screams, shoving the barrel in even tighter as his hand starts to shake. “He deserves to die, Oliver!”

 

“He does,” Felicity agrees. Her voice is low and dangerous, and there’s a malice in it she’s never quite heard from herself before.

 

Apparently Oliver’s never heard anything like it before, either, because Felicity feels Oliver flinch next to her. She turns to look at him, softening instantly.

 

“But this is your choice, Oliver,” she tells him, her voice calm once more.

 

Oliver’s hand starts to shake in hers, and she squeezes it tight.

 

Then Oliver turns to look at her...and he smiles.

 

“Felicity,” he says quietly, and she nods reassuringly.

 

Then Oliver turns back to the computer screen in front of him, where he’s chosen to display two video feeds. On one, The Green Arrow’s body cam shows the face of the man who tortured and abused him and drove him to suicide. On the other, Speedy’s cam shows John hunched over Prometheus, his body trembling and his eyes filled with rage.

 

It’s Oliver’s choice.

 

…

……

…

 

And Oliver chooses.

 

“He’s already taken so much from us. From me. I won’t let him take you too, John.”

 

Felicity gasps, choking back tears, and Oliver squeezes her hand tightly.

 

“Let ARGUS take him,” Oliver says. “Let him rot in a cell.”

 

And in the end, John pulls his gun away from his enemy’s head...but not before hitting him with the butt of it and knocking him out cold.

 

Then Team Arrow stands back and lets Lyla’s agents take him away.

 

A week later, Simon Morrison hangs himself in his ARGUS cell.

 

No one feels a thing when it happens.

* * *

 

 

Once Prometheus is out of their lives for good, Oliver begins to heal even faster.

 

Eventually, Felicity decides it’s time to change some things around. So she gathers Oliver’s loved ones, and together they spend their Halloween setting the loft back to the way it used to be.

 

John and Oliver move the bed back up to the bedroom where it belongs. Roy and Thea remove all the now unnecessary locks, including the one on the medicine cabinet and the (long since replaced) balcony door. Donna gathers up the last of her things so she can move them into Quentin’s apartment, where she’s been staying for the past few months. Lyla brings back the TV and hangs it up above the mantel. Felicity helps Quentin remove all the cameras spread throughout the loft (now that Prometheus is gone, Oliver no longer needs the extra protection).

 

By the end of the day, the loft looks like it did that night so long ago when Oliver was taken from her...with one major difference.

 

Oliver’s drawings stay up on the walls.

 

“Are you sure?” Oliver asks her as he tapes one of his very first drawings back up on the wall after attempting to take it down.

 

Felicity gazes up at the drawing of herself saving Oliver, and she smiles at the now familiar image of herself dressed as a superhero and surrounded by light.

 

“I’m sure,” Felicity tells him, and she stands on the tips of her toes and kisses him softly on the cheek. “They remind me of all the good times we’ve shared. And more than that, they remind me of how strong you are.”

 

Oliver smiles warmly at her. Then he bends down and surprises her by pressing his lips to hers. The kiss is long and deep, and when Oliver finally pulls away from her, she realizes they’re both shaking.

 

But Oliver’s still smiling.

 

“I like them, too,” he tells her. “They remind me of how much I love you...and how much you’ve done for me.”

 

* * *

 

In the weeks that follow, Oliver slowly but surely comes back to her.

 

He still has days where he seems to retreat inside himself. Felicity offers him things to do, but she doesn’t push him. She sits quietly with him sometimes, and she gives him space and solitude whenever he needs it, assuring him that she’s close by if he wants someone to talk to. She doesn’t go far from him on those days; not because she’s afraid of relapse, but because she wants to be nearby if he needs her.

 

He still has moments where he stares at himself in the mirror, nitpicking everything he sees: from the gray in his hair to his stomach to the dozens of scars - both new and old - that litter his body. Whenever she finds him brooding over his appearance, she does her best to comfort him. She tells him he’s beautiful and strong and that his scars are a mark of bravery, not something to be ashamed of. She hugs him and kisses his scars and tells him that she loves him.

 

She continues to read to him every day...until one night, Oliver asks if he can read to  _ her _ instead, and they begin to take turns.

 

Every once in awhile, Felicity catches Oliver staring at her neck. The bruises have long since faded, but the memory hasn’t, and it probably never will - for either of them. But Felicity never dwells on it, and she doesn’t let him do it, either. She doesn’t blame him for what happened, and she assures him of that every single time he tries to apologize to her.

* * *

 

 

One morning in early November, Oliver decides he’s ready for Felicity to read his journals.

 

“I’d be honored,” Felicity tells him, and Oliver smiles as he kisses the top of her head.

 

Oliver wanders nervously around the loft as she reads, too anxious to settle down to anything.

 

After an hour of pacing, Felicity tells him he should go spend the day with his sister.

 

“Are you sure?” he asks her, wringing his hands together nervously.

 

Felicity smiles, despite the tears in her eyes from reading about his experience in the sensory deprivation chamber, and tells him she’ll be fine.

 

And so Oliver leaves her alone with his words, and Felicity spends the whole day reading them, her heart aching for him and everything he’s been through. 

 

After forcing herself to eat something for dinner, she finds herself on the last entry in his current journal - dated from the night before - and it makes her cry in a way that nothing she’s read so far has.

 

_ There’s one memory I still can’t touch, no matter how hard I try: the night I tried to kill myself. _

 

_ There’s also one memory I wish I could forget: the night that I hurt you. _

 

_ Hurting myself that night made me feel better. I felt like I deserved to be punished for everything I’d done - not just to my enemies, but to my friends and family...and most especially, to YOU. I felt like I deserved the pain, and when I inflicted on it on myself, it made me feel better; almost fulfilled. _

 

_ I was a monster, just like Prometheus had said, and I deserved everything that was happening to me. _

 

_ But then you found me. _

 

_ AGAIN. _

 

_ You found me and you saved me. _

 

_ Up until that point, I’d never really thought that my actions were hurting anyone but myself. I never saw that everything I was going through - the fits, panic attacks, dissociative episodes, mutism, and nightmares - was also affecting you. _

 

_ But then that night - after months of seeing you as my strong, steady, guiding hand - watching you lose control of your carefully guarded emotions broke down my walls in a  _ _ way that nothing else could. It showed me that something was horribly wrong - that what was happening to me was affecting you deeply - and it helped me find a strength and courage I no longer believed I possessed. _

 

_ Watching you cry hurt me more than anything else had in a very long time. _

 

_ More than the cuts on my feet or my bruised hands or the scratches on my wrists. _

 

_ More than the hospital or the nightmares or anything Prometheus had ever done to me. _

 

_ And so I fought against the darkness that had kept me down for so long. _

 

_ It was the hardest thing I’d ever done, but I knew I had to do it. _

 

_ For you, Felicity Smoak, there was no choice to make.  _

 

_ I know that reading these words will be hard for you, and every fiber of my being despises the idea of putting you through any more pain. _

 

_ I’m terrified that reading these words will hurt you...but I also think that NOT reading them will hurt you even more. _

 

_ And I don’t want to keep things from you anymore. _

 

_ I’m ready, Felicity. I’m ready for you to know what happened to me; at least, those parts that I remember. _

 

_ It’s like I told you the night we finally got back together. _

 

_ I don’t want to live on an island anymore. _

 

_ I owe you so much; so much more than I can ever repay you for. _

 

_ But as long as I’m still breathing, I will try. _

 

~~~

 

Oliver comes home just a few minutes after she’s put down his last journal, and he finds Felicity curled up on the couch crying quietly to herself.

 

Without a word, Oliver lifts her into his arms and carries her upstairs.

 

He sits her down on the edge of their bed and carefully undresses her. Felicity lets him, still crying softly, and when she’s down to just her underclothes, Oliver undresses himself in kind. Then he pulls the blankets down and climbs into bed, holding his hand out to her. She takes it gratefully, crawling under the covers with him. Then she curls up against his chest and lets him wraps his arms around her.

 

She continues to cry silently, relishing the feel of his body warm and soft and alive against hers.

 

And Oliver?

 

Oliver holds Felicity tight, and he keeps her together.

 

Eventually, she falls asleep to the feel of his heart beating under her cheek and the sound of her name.

 

_ ‘Fe-LI-ci-ty _ .”

* * *

 

 

It’s a long time before Oliver’s ready to be intimate with her again.

 

He starts off small: kisses on the lips when he’s feeling happy, a bit of gentle making out when he’s feeling more adventurous.

 

About a week before Thanksgiving, Oliver takes her out on their first real date since before he was kidnapped. She wears the blue dress she promised to wear for him when he was feeling better, and the evening is nothing short of magical.

 

When they get home, Oliver wraps his arms around her lower back, pulls her in close, and kisses her.

 

It’s everything Felicity thought it would be, and more. She’s missed him terribly - an ache in her very soul.

 

Then he puts his hands on her hips and slowly trails them up her sides. When his fingers caress the swell of her breasts she gasps, and he stops, dropping his hands away from her like he’s been burned.

 

“Felicity...I….”

 

And she understands. She wants him so badly it hurts, but she understands.

 

“It’s okay, honey,” she whispers, standing on the tips of her toes so she can press a kiss to his cheek. “It’s okay.”

 

_ “Felicity…,”  _ Oliver sighs, and he starts wringing his hands together nervously.

 

“You have nothing to apologize for, Oliver. I understand. You’re not ready, and it’s okay.”

 

“I want you,” Oliver gasps, and he holds his hands out like he’s aching to touch her. “I want you so much, but I….”

 

Felicity shakes her head, then grips his hands and squeezes them tight.

 

“ _ It’s okay _ ,” she tells him firmly. “We don’t need to rush this, Oliver. We have all the time in the world. Whatever you need, however long it takes, I’ll wait for you.”

 

* * *

 

And she does wait….

 

...but not for long.

 

A week later, Oliver and Felicity spend a simple day together.

 

It’s nothing fancy.

 

A movie.

 

A trip to the cafe for hot chocolate and coffee and muffins.

 

A stroll in the park to watch the sunset.

 

When they come home, Oliver grabs her hand and pulls her out onto the balcony so they can look at the stars.

 

It’s a clear, quiet night, and Oliver doesn’t look down; not once.

 

Instead he looks up….

 

...and when he brings her back inside, he tells her he’s ready.

 

Felicity is patient with him, soothing him and reassuring him as she slowly undresses him. Oliver trembles, growing more and more self conscious, as though every lost item of clothing is somehow exposing him in more ways than one.

 

But he holds himself together, his need and desire overriding his nervousness and fear, and they finally find themselves naked and in bed. The more they kiss and caress the more comfortable Oliver feels, and his anxiety gives way to passion.

 

They lose themselves in the heat of the moment; in the feel of each other’s skin and the planes of each other’s bodies and the familiarness of their intimacy.

 

Then Oliver bends down to kiss the spot right behind her ear that he knows drives her crazy…and his gaze lands on her neck.

 

Felicity feels him stiffen in her arms, and she knows immediately that something is wrong.

 

“Oliver, it’s okay-”

 

“No,” Oliver gasps, and he lets go of her and pulls away. “No, no, it’s not.  _ Felicityyy. _ ”

 

He shifts as far away from her as he can on the confines of the bed, and Felicity’s heart aches as she watches him put his hands behind his neck, bowing his head with a soft whine.

 

“Oh, honey,” Felicity sighs, and she scoots just a bit closer to him. He shakes his head from side to side, but he doesn’t flinch or move away from her, and she scoots just a bit closer. When she puts a gentle hand on his shoulder she can feel him shaking, his whole body trembling from the force of his sobs.

 

“I’m sorry,” Oliver whimpers, and he looks up at her, eyes wet with tears. Then he makes a fist with his hand, places it against his chest, and rotates it over and over again.

 

_ I’m sorry _ , he signs to her.  _ I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. _

 

It’s been a long time since he’s signed anything, and Felicity tries her hardest to fight back her own tears.

 

“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay,” she soothes him, and she reaches down with her free hand and grabs his right wrist, pulling his hand away from his chest. She lifts his fist to her mouth and kisses the back of his knuckles, and he unclenches his fingers, relaxing under her touch.

 

“It’s okay,” she says again. 

 

Then she puts his hand against her chest, right over her heart, so he can feel it beating with life.

 

“I’m okay,” she tells him.

 

Then she puts her hand over his heart in return.

 

“ _ We’re _ okay,” she assures him.

 

The gesture calms him, as it has before, and Oliver nods his head and starts his breathing. She breathes with him, helping him the best way she knows how.

 

Twenty minutes later, they fall asleep together, with the promise of “later” wrapped tightly around them.

 

* * *

 

Five days later, they try again.

 

It’s been exactly one year since Prometheus took Oliver away from her. She knows this without even having to look at a calendar. Felicity knows deep in her bones that it’s been one year since she thought she’d never see Oliver again.

 

She’ll never forget that night as long as she lives….

 

...and she’ll never forget this one, either, because it’s also been exactly one year since she and Oliver have made love.

 

Felicity’s not sure if Oliver understands this - if perhaps this is the reason why he tries so hard to be with her - but she doesn’t ask him, because it doesn’t really matter in the end.

 

They take it slow, like they did last time….

 

And just like last time, Oliver eventually finds himself gazing down at her neck.

 

But unlike last time, Felicity doesn’t let Oliver pull away. Instead she takes his right hand and places it gently on her shoulder. His fingers brush against her neck, and his hand starts to tremble, but Felicity shakes her head and grabs his other hand, putting it on her other shoulder.

 

“I trust you,” she whispers.

 

Oliver gasps softly...and then his fingers begin to caress her neck, ghosting gently over her skin like he’s remembering the bruises he left there.

 

“Felicity….”

 

“ _ I trust you _ ,” she tells him again, more firmly this time. Then she turns her head to the side, exposing her neck to him. “Kiss me, Oliver. Please. ”

 

…

……

…

 

And he does.

 

He bends down slowly...and he presses his lips to the skin of her neck, right behind her ear.

 

Felicity moans, throwing her head back. Oliver kisses her again, more eagerly this time, licking at her skin with his tongue, and she whimpers.

 

“Please,” she begs him, suddenly overcome with emotion. “Please, Oliver. I need you.”

 

Her voice shatters...and the last of Oliver’s fears and doubts shatter with it.

 

“I’m ready,” he says.

 

…

……

...

 

Felicity offers to take the lead, but he wants - no,  _ needs _ \- to take the lead himself. She’s done everything for him for so long, and he needs to do something for her.

 

When he finally enters her, they both gasp, feeling complete in a way they haven’t for a very long time. Oliver takes a moment - for her sake and for his own - before he finally moves inside her.

 

And they make love.

 

It’s slow - so very slow - and tender. 

 

Felicity holds onto him tightly as he trembles above her, whispering reassurances and “I love you”s into his ear.

 

Oliver just says her name, but it’s more than enough.

 

It doesn’t take long for both of them to reach completion. It’s been so long since they’ve been together like this, and emotions are running high on both sides. 

 

After they’ve finally come down, Oliver pulls out of her and kneels back on the bed, staring down at her. He’s panting heavily, his whole body shaking, and as Felicity sits up she realizes that she’s doing the same thing.

 

Then he starts to tremble harder, and Felicity reacts without having to think. She gets up on her knees, too, and closes the distance between them. Then she wraps her arms around him and hugs him.

 

Without a word, Oliver rests his head on her shoulder and starts to cry.

 

“ _ Fe-LI-ci-ty,”  _ he moans against her shoulder.

 

Felicity gasps.

 

“I love you, too, Oliver,” she tells him, her voice breaking as she kisses the top of his head. “I love you so much.”

 

She tries to hold it together for his sake - because he needs her to be strong - but between the emotion of the moment and how much she’s missed being with him like this, she can’t.

 

In the end, Oliver and Felicity hold each other close and they cry together.

 

…

……

…

 

When their tears are finally spent, they lie in bed and hold each other quietly. 

 

Felicity’s just started to drift off to sleep when she hears him call her name.

 

“Yeah, baby?” she asks, shifting slightly against him so her head is resting on his shoulder. She opens her eyes and looks up at him to find him gazing down at her fondly.

 

“I can never repay you for everything you’ve done for me, Felicity,” he tells her, running his hand along her lower back.

 

Felicity shakes her head against him, running her fingers lazily against the skin of his chest.

 

“You don’t owe me anything, Oliver,” she says with a smile. “And besides, you’ve already given me the one thing I wanted more than anything else.”

 

He frowns, and Felicity leans up and kisses him. He sighs against her lips, a few tears escaping his eyes as he closes them, and she cups his cheek with her right hand and brushes them away.

 

When she pulls away, she puts her hand back on his chest, resting her palm over his heart so she can feel it beating strong and sure underneath her.

 

And she smiles as she says, “You came back to me.”

 

“I had a little help,” Oliver whispers, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. “ _ Fe-LI-ci-ty.” _

 

“I love you, too,” she replies softly as her eyes drift shut once more. “I love you, too.”

* * *

 

 

In the days that follow, Oliver says the words “I love you” more and more….

 

But every once in awhile - particularly when he’s struggling or feeling overwhelmed - he’ll say it as her name.

 

In his “special way.”

 

And Felicity knows she’ll never get tired of hearing Oliver say her name like he’s saying “I love you.”

 

_...to be concluded... _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that Prometheus' ending wasn’t too anticlimactic. When I started this fic I never really intended to give Prometheus a backstory at all. To me this was always a story about Oliver and Felicity, and my focus was always THERE rather than on the villain. The plan was always to have John put his gun to Prometheus' head, for Oliver to stop him, and for Prometheus to take his own life, but there was never a plan to delve into his backstory or introduce a character like Ivan. However, enough people showed interest in Prometheus' character, and I eventually realized I wanted to give more insight into the man and the monster before I killed him off. The idea of Prometheus as an "avenging angel" who felt the need to kill his own followers came to me one day and I went from there.
> 
> Also, I named him Simon Morrison because once we saw Prometheus in season five of Arrow, I realized I couldn't help but picture MY Prometheus with Adrian Chase’s (ie Josh Segarra’s) face as I continued working on this story. While I started writing this before the real season 5 Prometheus was ever a thing, I almost feel like this could still be him. Perhaps a version of Adrian Chase that chose to take revenge in a bit of a different way - by exacting vengeance on not just one man but on other men like him, as well; an Adrian Chase who focused his anger and insanity at more than one target. But in the end, Team Arrow never finds out anything about “Simon Morrison” other than his name in this story, so this is all kind of open to your own interpretation here.
> 
> Finally, I wanted to mention that I do plan to write a standalone interlude that will be the explicit version of Oliver and Felicity's first time making love after Oliver's ordeal, but I'm making no promises on when that will happen.


	17. Home Is Wherever I'm with You

**< \--Epilogue: Home is Wherever I’m with You-->**

 

If you were to ask Felicity, she would say that the lowest point in this long ordeal was when Oliver tried to kill himself.

 

But if you asked Oliver, he would say there was no lower point than when he hurt Felicity.

 

But it doesn’t matter in the end; not really. 

 

What matter is that Oliver heals.

 

Thanks to Donna and Quentin and Thea and John.

 

Thanks to Dr. Schwarz and Dr. Martinez.

 

Thanks to Felicity.

 

…

……

…

 

And thanks to himself.

 

Because Felicity never lets him forget how strong he is. She never lets him forget that he survived Prometheus’ torture. Never lets him forget that even though he tried to take his own life, when it really mattered, he fought to come back to her.

 

“It’s all because of  _ you _ , Felicity,” Oliver explains to her late one December night. “You’re the one who gave me the strength to keep fighting.”

 

“No, Oliver,” Felicity tells him with a shake of her head. “I didn’t give you the strength.”

 

“Felicity-”

 

“I didn’t _ have _ to give you the strength, Oliver. I’ve been trying to tell you this for years. The strength is right _ here, _ ” she tells him, resting her hand over his heart. “The strength is in you already; it always has been. I just helped you find it.”

 

“Felicity….”

 

He still sounds unsure, and so Felicity takes his hand and shows him the proof.

 

She shows him the walls covered in his drawings - showing his tales of triumph and happiness - to prove that he’s always been able to find light within the dark.

 

She shows him his artpads - filled with tales of sadness and fear - to prove that he’s managed to fight his way through the pain and the suffering to find his way back home to her.

 

She shows him his journals - filled with the story he’s shared with her - to prove that he’s changed and can continue to change.

 

She shows him his scars, kissing each and every one she can see. When she’s done, she slowly undresses him and kisses the rest.

 

To prove that he’s a hero.

 

To prove that he’s brave. 

 

To prove that he’s strong.

 

She leaves the scars on his wrists for last. She’s seen him scratch at them sometimes, particularly the left one, and every time she’s caught him she’s done exactly what she does now.

 

She kisses the scars on his wrists to remind him that he’s survived.

 

To remind him of how precious his life is.

 

To remind him of how much she loves him.

 

“You’ve faced so much, Oliver...but you’re still  _ here, _ ” she tells him, gazing up at him with fire in her eyes. “You faced the darkness and you fought back. You are  _ strong _ , Oliver Queen.”

 

And finally...finally….

 

...Oliver begins to believe it.

 

* * *

Eventually, Oliver and Felicity decide there’s no point in continuing to pay the rent on Oliver’s old apartment. And so, one day in mid December, Felicity helps Oliver move his things into the loft. They both know they want to move somewhere else someday - this place holds a lot of painful memories now - but they’re not quite ready yet.

 

After Oliver’s moved everything back into the loft, he realizes he can’t find his mother’s engagement ring.

 

He mentions it to Felicity a few nights later after dinner, and she smiles at him and holds out her hand.

 

“Come with me,” she tells him, and Oliver follows her up to their bedroom. He waits quietly as she opens the top drawer of her nightstand, pulls out a familiar handcarved wooden box, and opens it.

 

Inside is the ring he had hidden in his closet; the ring Felicity took from his apartment a year ago. 

 

“I found it in your apartment after you were taken,” she explains. “I don’t really know why I went looking for it. I think I just...I needed something to remember you by, ya know? Something to keep me going.”

 

Oliver nods in understanding, and he reaches out to take the box from her.

 

But Felicity pulls it away.

 

“No, Oliver. I...I don’t want to give it back.”

 

Oliver watches her silently, and when the meaning of her words hits him his eyes widen in surprise.

 

“What...what are you saying?” he asks her, though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer.

 

Felicity smiles….

 

...and she holds the box out to him.

 

“Oliver Queen...will you marry me?”

 

Oliver doesn’t even have to think.

 

He takes the box from her, pulls out the ring, and puts it back on her finger.

 

“Yes.”

 

* * *

 

They get married on Christmas Eve in a small ceremony at City Hall with a few of their friends. John Diggle officiates, Donna walks her daughter down the aisle, and Thea stands proud as maid of honor.

 

They don’t want anything big.

 

They don’t  _ need _ anything big.

 

After everything they’ve been through, they don’t need anything except each other and the people they love most.

 

They exchange simple vows, and when it comes time to put the rings on, Oliver presents her with the wedding bands he made himself. They’re a soft emerald green, and Felicity reads the inscriptions that Oliver has carefully hand engraved along the inside of them.

 

He’s written “I love you” on both of the rings….

 

...except her says,  _ I love you _ ….

 

...and his says,  _ Felicity. _

 

And Oliver keeps Felicity’s name close to him for the rest of his life.

 

Wrapped around his finger….

 

...and written in his heart.

 

_...the...end... _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize that ending was a bit sappy, but after everything these two have been through they fucking deserved it.
> 
> I don't have words to describe how I feel right now. Finally being done with this is one of the most bittersweet experiences of my life. I put a lot into this story: time, effort, tears, a bit of my sanity, and a tiny portion of my soul. This story took on a life I never expected it to. It's my longest fan fic ever, clocking in at about 106K, or the length of the third Harry Potter book. I actually had a bit of a crisis the other night when I realized that this story is longer than the entirety of "The Hobbit." I essentially wrote a novel, and it blows my mind when I think about it too hard.
> 
> I’m sorry this story took me so long, but I am eternally grateful for everyone's patience and support. I've said it before and I'll say it again: I appreciate the hell out of my readers. Infinite thanks to those who've stuck with me for so long, to those who've left kudos and reviews, and to those who've enjoyed crying over this story as much as I have. I'd send everyone tissues and cookies if I could.
> 
> I'm glad I could share this story with you all, and thanks as always for reading and sharing your thoughts and feelings with me. I will do my best to find time to reply to everyone who leaves a comment on the end of this story. <3


	18. story notes: Oliver's use of Felicity's name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn't a new chapter, but a small series of notes that I'd meant to post at the same time as the epilogue but forgot (because I was so excited to (finally!) finish this story!).
> 
> These are the notes I had to help myself keep track of the various ways Oliver says Felicity's name. Every variation of "Felicity" has a unique tone and is used to express something different, and this was how I kept it all straight in my head. The punctuation, italics, and capital letters were all used very deliberately so that every way Oliver said Felicity's name could be read differently, and thus SOUND different in the reader's head. I didn't necessarily expect everyone to pick up on this, much less to pick up on all of the nuances, but I knew it was something I had to do regardless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to @Watcherofworlds for letting me know they were able to pick up on this! <3

**Oliver’s Use of “Felicity”**

 

_FeLIcity._

          “Thank you.”

          Used when he’s happy; content; peaceful

          Esp used with a happy sigh or a snuggle

 

Felicity!

          An exclamation

          Also used when he’s happy, but excited/energetic happy, as opposed to a calm happy

 

FELICITY!

          “NO!”

          Used when he’s mad at her, or when he feels angry/frustrated

 

_Felicity…_

          “I’m sorry”

          “Please”

          Used when he’s scared/upset

          Esp used when he’s begging or pleading with her

 

_Felicity?_

          A questioning used when he’s scared/upset

          Esp used when he’s afraid he’s upset her; when he wants her to tell him what he’s done wrong

 

_Felicityyy_

          A cry of pain

          Used when he's in physical or emotional distress

          Esp used when something hurts and he wants her to make it stop

 

Felicity.

          A generic affirmation

          Used with a nod to say “yes” or “okay”

 

Felicity?

          A generic question

          Used when he’s confused or asking her for help

 

_Fe-LI-ci-ty_

          Literally “I love you” :’)

          Special; used only when he wants Felicity to know that he loves her

          Sometimes used with actions to show that love (a smile, a drawing, a flower)

          *Sometimes used when he’s having trouble expressing his love for her in another way (ex: he’s lashing out because he feels frustrated or

angry, but he needs her to know that it’s not directed at her)

          *not entirely sure I ever used it this way, but it was something I had in mind at least

 

 

**Felicity.**

          A promise.


End file.
